Author Note: Ok, forgot the note at the end of the last chapter, so here it is now. The spell Merlin uses to summon the dragon is an actual spell from the show. It's Homeric Greek, which is what the show uses for all dragon spells. As for Emrys' enchantment of the sapphire, that's a spell that I made up, but it's written in Old English, just like all the spells in Merlin, so hopefully I've kinda done the magical world some justice, lol. If anyone's interested in the translation of the spell, let me know...if not enjoy this next chapter anyway :)

...

Dante was bewildered.

Exactly that. Bewildered.

She couldn't understand - couldn't make sense of what was happening.

Pain flared across her entire body with every laboured breath and she was pulled continually into a blackness that cut out seconds - or perhaps it was even minutes - of the agony, making it that much harder to keep up with reality - if this was even reality and not just some twisted perverted version of the afterlife - or wherever it was that people supposedly went after they died.

Because she'd died, hadn't she? In Ealdor? That traitor Lot had driven his dagger into her chest, smirking with glee as he did so. So why was she still conscious? Or at least why was her mind still conscious? Thinking all these thoughts, even if her body was momentarily disconnected and unable to respond to anything but the pain.

She tried to separate everything in her weary mind, which was easier said than done when wavering between moments of blackness and moments of an odd blueness.

The blackness was silent and didn't hurt, but she was still 'aware'.

The blueness was accompanied by odd, muffled sounds and it felt like she'd been hit by a herd of stampeding horses, burned alive, done ten rounds with a dragon and fallen from the top of one of the parapets of the Citadel, all at the same time.

There were smells as well - blood and stone, mingled with the fresh scent of flowers and another smell that she couldn't quite place. Metal, perhaps?

The air was fresh, at least, and flooded her lungs in ragged gasps, confirming that she was breathing. The dead don't breathe. And neither do they dream...or think. And they're certainly not aware of their surroundings.

Slowly, she flexed one finger. Then another. Her hand curled into a painful fist. Then she wiggled her toes. Finally, the rest of her body began to comply, and after several long seconds of flexing the cramp and stiffness slowly from her joints, she determined that she must be laying on her back, somewhere.

She moved one hand slowly, placing it flat beside her, feeling whatever it was that she was currently lying on. It was soft and felt suspiciously like a mattress of some kind. Giving a tentative push to test how her body would respond, she immediately wished she hadn't.

The pain was incredible, and she let out a pained gasp, the breath literally knocked from her as her eyes snapped open and she saw stars. Her arm gave way and she fell back down again, into the mound of pillows.

After several long seconds to gather her strength, she tried again, and managed to eventually push herself up into a sort of sitting position, before the pain became too unbearable and she sank once again back into the mound of pillows. How thoughtful of someone to give her so many...which raised the question, where the hell was she?

When she was able to open her eyes again, she had no idea how much time had passed whilst she'd been unconscious, but as she slowly blinked and allowed her eyes to adjust to the light – or rather, the lack of it – she realised that it must be well into the night by now – maybe even early morning. She was groggy from whatever drugs and remedies someone had given her, so it took her a few minutes to realize where she was, but eventually her other senses came drifting back to her in fits and starts again, and she began to piece together exactly where she must be.

The drapes above her and the softness of the bed told her that she must be back in her room in Camelot. So the Knights had somehow managed to get her all the way home from Ealdor then. That was good.

And by the looks of things, it was night time in Camelot. And she was in her own bed, in her own chambers. But apparently not alone, as she heard the soft gentle sounds of someone breathing.

At first she'd assumed it was her own breath she was hearing. But then she realised that the sounds were out of synch with each breath she took, and frowning, she lifting her head gingerly from the pillow - just her head, this time. Not the rest of her body. After all, it was her chest, in particular that hurt the most, so perhaps if she only moved her head, she'd be spared the pain?

She couldn't raise it very far before the pain hit again, however, and she realised how wrong she'd been, clenching her teeth in agony, slumping back down into the mound of pillows and blinking in surprise as this time they almost engulfed her entire head.

Once she'd recovered from the shock, she stubbornly tried once more, determined to move, regardless of the pain she would inevitably inflict upon herself in the process. Lifting her head very slowly, learning from her earlier mistake, she just about managed to turn it to one side, and in the very thin streams of light filtering in through the drapes across the window on the far side of the room, she was able to see that she was not as alone as she'd first thought.

Gwaine was asleep, sitting in a chair by the bed side, head resting upon his arm, which in turn was resting upon the mattress of the bed itself, brown hair all messed up, eyes closed peacefully, but with a frown of concern etched across his features. He looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes telling her that this was probably the first time he'd slept for many days. He looked haggard and dishevelled, too. Like he hadn't washed, shaved or eaten.

It was as if he'd not left the chair unless it was absolutely necessary - and this did not surprise her one bit.

She smiled and tried to turn even more, so that she could get a better look at him, and her movements must have woken him, because with a deep sigh, he sat up, blinking. Seeing her staring back at him, he smiled sleepily.

"You're awake!" He exclaimed, before yawning and stretching his arms behind his head.

It took her a moment to reply. Her throat felt like it was on fire.

"What...happened?" She rasped weakly, all her strength gone. Just breathing had once again become an effort.

"Don't worry about that now," he soothed gently, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand tenderly. "How do you feel?"

She considered for a long time.

"I've been better," she decided eventually, and he laughed - such a joyous laugh that immediately she felt ten times better.

"Get some rest," she told him, raising an arm. When she discovered that this action didn't bring any pain, she gently moved it to rest on his shoulder, weakly giving him what she hoped was a comforting squeeze.

He raised his own hand to place over the top of hers. Then he took her hand gently, moved it to his mouth and placed a very tender kiss on the back of her fingers.

"Welcome back," he smiled warmly, kissing her hand again. She didn't have the energy to say anything, instead just settling herself back into the pillows once more. He reached up with his free hand, rearranging them a little for her to ensure that she was comfortable. Then he stroked her forehead softly until she'd slipped back into a peaceful sleep.

...

It was another one of those really tedious meetings about taxes and yearly profits that Arthur despised. He'd really rather be anywhere else right about then, but duty called and he couldn't ignore it. He expected to see the usual council faces turn up for the meeting, and for the first half an hour at least he hadn't been disappointed. But then, half way through Leon's recital of the taxes collected from the lower town, the doors opened and Gwaine entered, a huge grin on his face.

Arthur frowned, confused.

Gwaine really had no love for politics, and had made it clear on several occasions that he wanted nothing to do with the council. So why was he joining them now?

But then as the knight got closer, Arthur saw who was accompanying him, hanging gingerly off his arm in a desperate attempt to keep herself upright. The King couldn't help but gasp in astonishment, his confusion forgotten, as he held up a hand to interrupt Leon. "Well, look who's rejoined the land of the living!" He exclaimed, delighted, as everyone in the room turned to regard the newcomers.

"Yeah, she's a lousy patient. Stubborn as all hell," Gwaine nodded, his own grin growing bigger by the second.

"I'm not stubborn, I'm just restless," Dante protested, pushing his arm away. Gwaine laughed, understanding that she was only joking and backed off to give her some space. She stood there, wavering on unsteady legs for a moment, before Arthur jumped up and hurried to her, extending his own arm, which Dante accepted, glad to have the support once more, as she was still weak.

"Please, sit," he motioned to his throne, but Dante shook her head, mortified by the very idea.

"Oh no Sire, I couldn't."

"I insist," he said firmly but gently, leading her right up to it. Carefully, she lowered herself into the ornate chair as everyone gathered round.

"Thank you, Sire," she said after a moment to get her breath back. It had been four days since the battle of Ealdor, and although the magical cure had worked wonders for healing her physical wounds, she was still drained and weak. It would take her a good month at least to recover fully.

"Leave us," Arthur spoke to the council, who all bowed in respect first to their King, and then to Dante. As they left the room, they offered words of encouragement to her.

"It's good to see you up and about again Milady."

"Praise the Lord you've returned to us, Your Ladyship."

"Our prayers have been answered, dear Lady."

"You're as stunning as always, Milady. A picture of beauty."

"You are an inspiration to us all, Your Grace."

Dante took each compliment with a polite smile, and it was only when everyone had gone, leaving her, Arthur, Gwaine and Leon alone together that this politeness melted away to be replaced by a look of disgust.

"Your Grace?" She echoed. "Your Ladyship? Are those guys for real?"

"They were just worried about you," Leon pointed out. "Everyone across the kingdom has been praying for you."

"And I'm truly touched by their concern," Dante nodded. "But seriously? You are an inspiration to us all? Come on!"

"That's the council for you. Full of flatterers and fools," Arthur grinned, sitting himself on the steps leading up to the throne. "No offence Leon."

"None taken, Sire," Leon grinned as he and Gwaine also took seats on the steps. The three of them looked up at Dante as she relaxed in the remarkably comfortable throne.

"Hmmm, I could get used to this," she grinned, making a point of examining the elegant chair.

"Yes well, don't," Arthur advised, only half joking. "I've had it taken from me too many times now to let it go without a fight."

"Ah yes, Morgana," Dante nodded knowingly. And then she sat bolt upright, before yelping in pain and sinking back again as Gwaine leapt up to assist her.

"I'm alright," she insisted after a moment. Then, more slowly this time, she sat up again. "What happened in Ealdor? Did we win? Did you beat her? Did you find the villagers?"

"After Gwaine beat the stuffing out of Lot, Morgana panicked and withdrew the remains of her army," Arthur explained, before shaking his head sadly. "I sent men back to clear up the place and search for clues, but there was nothing. Any tracks that may have been left were washed away in that freak thunderstorm."

Dante appeared to consider all this for a moment, and Arthur got the feeling she may know more than she was letting on.

"Do YOU know where they might be?"

"Possibly," she nodded. "Have you tried the Castle of Fyrien?"

"No," Arthur frowned. "Why would we try there? It's nowhere near Essetir."

"Because Lot inherited it from Cenred, who in turn inherited it from Caerleon after his defeat at your father's hands. That's where he takes all his slaves to break their wills, before he sends them off to wherever they are needed. It's big enough to hold an entire village, from what I remember of my time there..."

"You were held at the Castle of Fyrien?" Gwaine growled, appalled.

"Like I said, Lot takes all his slaves there to break them - make them utterly subservient to him. I was there for at least a year - I don't break easily."

"You're more stubborn than a mule," Gwaine agreed, placing a hand on her shoulder as Arthur stood up and began to pace. Leon also stood up so that he was not the odd one out, standing off to one side with his hands behind his back.

"So you're saying this is the most likely place Lot would have taken them?" Arthur repeated after careful consideration. Dante nodded.

"And they would still be there after four days?"

"Yes. Lot leaves the slaves for at least a week before he sends the 'brokens' off to wherever they are needed.

"A week?" It was Leon's turn to speak now, picking up on Arthur's obvious train of thought. "That doesn't give us much time, Arthur."

"I know," the King nodded. "But we have to try. Gather the men. We'll take the army and ride out at dusk. If we ride through the night, with any luck, we'll be at the castle by noon tomorrow."

"And what about Camelot. Are we to leave it undefended?" Leon asked. Arthur paused.

"It could be a trap," Gwaine finally chipped in. "He could be expecting us to take all the men to Fyrien, leaving the Kingdom undefended."

"That's a good point," Arthur conceded. "Alright, split the army. Leon and I will take half to Fyrien, Gwaine, you and Percival will lead the other half to protect Camelot, should it come under attack. Gwen can rule in my stead whilst I am gone."

"And what about me?" Dante asked, attempting to rise from the throne. But Gwaine pushed her gently back down again as Arthur turned back to her.

"You, My Lady, are going back to bed. And you are going to stay there until you are fully recovered."

"But - "

"That's an order Dante," Arthur insisted, though not unkindly. Dante found that she didn't even have the energy to argue, and nodded.

"Yes My Lord."

"Good." He turned to Leon. "Rally the men, I'll join you in a moment."

Leon bowed and hurried from the room, leaving Dante and Gwaine alone with Arthur, who only now turned to study her curiously, hands behind his back.

"Four days?" he said at last, more than a hint of suspicion lacing his tone.

"Sorry?" Gwaine frowned, not really understanding who the question was directed at, consider Arthur was now looking between them both.

"It's been four days since the Lady Dante was almost fatally stabbed, whilst Gaius told me only yesterday that she would not live to see another sunrise. And yet here she is now, up and walking about as if it were no more than a mere scratch. And no hint of a broken nose either. Is something going on that I should know?"

Gwaine really had no answer for that. Arthur looked to Dante, but she was just as clueless as him. She remembered nothing from the moment she was stabbed to the moment she'd woken up in the middle of last night. So Arthur looked back to Gwaine again, his whole attitude demanding that the knight tell him the truth. Eventually, Gwaine sighed.

"I used magic," he admitted. He expected Arthur to shout at him, or fly into a hate-induced rant about magic. But he didn't. He simply remained standing where he was, arms folded firmly across his chest, a severe look on his handsome features. If anything, the only reaction Gwaine got to this revelation was a small gasp from Dante.

"I knew you would," Arthur said eventually, his tone heavy with disappointment. And for Gwaine, this was worse than the shouting and the ranting and raging. He could deal with that side of Arthur. But not this side.

"Arthur I - " he started, feeling the need to explain. But Arthur shook his head.

"You deliberately disobeyed me, Gwaine. I forbade you from using magic, yet you went ahead and used it behind my back, anyway."

"Arthur please let me - "

"I'll deal with you when I return from Fyrien. Escort the Lady Dante to her room then get out of my sight."

"Yes my Lord," Gwaine muttered, feeling like a small child again. Dante gave him a sympathetic look as he scooped her into his arms, but there was really nothing she could say or do to help the situation.

As he reached the door with her, however, he paused and turned back. "I will accept whatever punishment you feel befits my crime," he told Arthur, who nodded.

"Then I'll hold you to that, with the Lady Dante as my witness."

As Gwaine turned to leave, however, Arthur called them back once more. Only this time he was speaking to Dante.

"Lady Dante! It's good to see you up and about again."

"Thank you," she nodded in acceptance of his compliment. "Take care out there Arthur. "

...

Three days of unconsciousness had not been kind to Dante, and despite the fact that Gwaine, Merlin and Gaius had done their best to feed her with mixtures of honey, water and herbs, poured down her throat as she'd remained in her coma, the weight had fallen off her so drastically that now she weighed next to nothing in Gwaine's arms as he carried her.

Still, now that she was conscious again and able to eat solid foods, he hoped that it would not take long for her to put a healthy amount back on - if she could bare to eat anything, that was. She'd already turned away the plate of breakfast that morning, as it was, despite his firm protests.

Still, now was not the time to dwell on that. He was in a sullen mood, not speaking, and clearly troubled by what had happened between him and Arthur. Dante wondered if he wanted to talk about it, but then one look into his eyes had given her the answer.

No.

So she thought long and hard about some way to take his mind off it, even for just a moment. Finally, she had an idea.

"So, on a scale of one to ten – how scared were you that I was gonna die?"

What an odd question, Gwaine thought to himself. But realising that she was just trying to distract him from things, he decided to play along.

"Four?" he shrugged.

"Four?" Dante gasped, staring at him in stunned disbelief.

" Yeah, why?" he asked, innocently.

"A four?"

"Yeah."

"You were at least an eight!"

"An eight?"

" You were a total eight."

"An eight? Dante, wildeoren are an eight!"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Yeah, they're terrifying," Gwaine nodded, trying to justify his answer.

"Then what's a ten?"

He paused and seemed to consider.

"Clowns."

"Clowns? Over my death?" Dante exclaimed glaring at him.

"I, I hate clowns..." Gwaine muttered, suddenly uncomfortable under her gaze and wishing she'd pressed him to talk about the whole magic incident after all.

"Clowns?" Dante repeated, sounding no less shocked than she had the first time.

"I hate clowns," Gwaine also repeated, unable to look her directly in the eye.

"Oh my word," Dante groaned as she tilted her head back to stare up at the ceiling moving past overhead. "You thought I was dead."

"What?"

"Yep, you thought I was gone."

"No..."

"Yes, you did. I saw you shed tears."

"No I never!"

"Yep, you shed a bunch of 'em."

"Tears?"

"Mmm hmm."

"It was raining," he said quickly, trying to find an excuse – any excuse.

"No it was not." Clearly Dante wasn't fooled.

"You were unconscious and it was raining," he insisted.

"It was totally sunny out by that point, and you were bawling."

"It wasn't sunny and you were unconscious!"

"Whatever. I kept your tears in a jar. I have proof."

He paused for a moment, considering.

"Alright, I'll give you a five, how's that?"

"A five?" she repeated as he managed to open the door to her room all by himself this time. Then, deciding that this was probably the best she'd ever get out of him, she sighed, accepting defeat.

"I was scared though," he admitted as he laid her back in her bed.

"So was I," she muttered quietly, gazing up at him.

"For a while I thought I'd lost you."

"For a while, you had." And neither of them could deny this truth. Dante had been incredibly lucky, and they both knew it.

As he turned to go and leave her in peace for a bit, she grabbed his hand. "Don't worry about Arthur," she said softly. "Everything will be alright."

"I wish I could believe you," he sighed.

"You want proof?" she asked, as he adjusted the pillows behind her to make her more comfortable. When he didn't answer, she continued, regardless of whether he was actually listening or not.

"He knew that you had disobeyed him, as soon as I walked through that door, but he still allowed you and Percy to take charge of the remaining army in his absence. That is an honour - a privilege. Not a punishment."

Gwaine thought about this long and hard as he sat beside her bed. She could see him slowly working everything out in his mind, and smiled gently as her words sunk in.

Finally she let go of his hand. "Everything will be alright," she repeated. "I promise you."

This time she was rewarded with a gentle kiss on the back of her hand and a slight smile.

"That's better."

"Would you like me to stay with you for a bit? I think I'd probably lay low until Arthur's gone anyway."

"I'd like that. Maybe, if it's not too much trouble, you can fill me in on everything I've missed?"

"Sure," he agreed.

So as she settled back into her pillows, he told her everything that had happened, in great detail, from the moment she'd fallen at Lot's hands, to the moment she'd woken again. He had a real flare for storytelling, Dante discovered, but try as she might, she just could not keep her eyes open, and had soon drifted off to sleep again. Gwaine didn't mind. It felt good just to get everything off his chest - particularly the admission about going to Emrys and how he'd defied Arthur - and even though Dante was asleep, he liked to think that she was still listening to him anyway.

...

The tavern on the outskirts of the city was always packed with patrons - those coming to Camelot to barter their wares, those leaving Camelot having successfully sold theirs, and those who lived in Camelot and just wanted a quiet drink with their friends. It wasn't that hard for Morgana, therefore, to slip into the tavern unnoticed and make her way to the bar. Keeping her hood up was no big issue - she wasn't the only one trying to hide her identity from those around her, and therefore didn't exactly look too out of place, either.

Signalling to the big portly fellow behind the bar, she waited for him to amble over.

"What can I get you, my love?" he asked, leaning casually against the bar.

"Information," she said calmly. He took one look at her face beneath the hood and gasped. But before he could call out for the guards, Morgana had uttered a spell to remove his voice. Try as he might, no sound came out. Eventually, after making himself blue in the face with the effort, he realised it was futile, and stared back at Morgana fearfully.

"Do I have your attention now?" she asked in a low voice that made him tremble. Knowing better than to get on her bad side, after the rumours that he had heard, the man nodded. She studied him for a moment, judging his intentions, then finally decided that he was telling the truth.

"Now," she said, leaning casually on the bar and motioning with her hand for him to come closer. "I need information and you're going to give it to me. Do you understand?"

He nodded.

"Be a good man and tell me everything I want to know, and you have my word that I will leave you in peace. But even so much as make eye contact with any of the guards or knights in this room with us right now, and I will not hesitate to run you through." Her cloak fell open slightly to reveal a glittering dagger tucked into her belt. The man gulped.

"Now, are you going to be a good little man?"

Again, he nodded. Morgana's eyes flashed gold for a fraction of a second.

"Now tell me, what news of the Lady Dante?"

"She," the man started, and then jumped, startled at the return of his voice. He cleared his throat and started again.

"She was brought back here four days ago, clinging to the last few strands of life. Someone tried to murder her, so I've heard, and they damn near succeeded too."

"Tried?" Morgana asked hopefully. "You mean she is not dead then?"

"No, Milady. Not so far as I've heard. News from the castle is she's still hanging in there. Still fighting the fight."

Morgana let out a relieved sigh then, and nodded. This was the best piece of news she'd heard for a long time. Reaching down to a small leather pouch on her belt, she pulled out five gold coins and pressed them into the man's hand. He stared at them in astonishment as she turned and left quietly - just as she'd told him she would. Then he looked around to see who had been watching, before pocketing the gold and carrying on with his job, trying to act as if nothing had happened. After all, if anyone found out he'd been conversing with the King's mortal enemy, he may well lose more than just his job.

But nobody seemed to have paid him or Morgana the slightest bit of attention, and her five gold coins were more than enough to buy his silence. After all, that was more than he earned in an entire week. Though he did have to wonder what the Lady Dante had to do with the witch...and why had Morgana sounded so relieved when she'd found out that the Lady still lived?

A curious thing, indeed.

Still, he valued his life too much to dwell on it any further, and simply went back to serving the patrons their drinks, thinking no more on it.

...

As Morgana ducked and wove through the heavy traffic outside the inn - dodging horses and sliding between groups of people, she kept her head down and her hood up - nobody could possibly have known who she was.

Unless they'd been following her.

A tug on the hem of her robe caused her to jump in alarm and reach for her dagger. Spinning on the spot, however, she saw a small child, no older than seven at most, looking up at her with huge sapphire eyes.

"Milady?" The boy asked timidly.

"Go away," Morgana said, trying to shoo him off before he brought any unwanted attention her way.

"Milady!" The little boy said again more urgently this time. "I have information. Please Milady, I beg you!"

"Go away," she told him again, just as forcefully. "I want nothing from you, and I shall call the guards if you do not leave me be."

"No you won't. You're the Lady Morgana. They'll want to catch you more than they'll want me," he pointed out.

"How do you know me?" She growled, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him into an empty alleyway. Until that point she'd been willing to believe that he was just some random beggar who had mistaken her for a noble woman. Now that he'd actually named her, however, she knew that this was not the case. He had not chosen her at random from the crowd, but rather sought her out.

Drawing her dagger, she intended to cut short his pathetic life before he could run to Arthur with the news that she'd been seen skulking in his kingdom, when the boy began to cry.

"Please don't hurt me Milady! I have information about Lady Dante! I only wanted to do a trade, like you did with Mr Smith! My family's starving and that money could do us so much good!"

Something about his sobs and protests wrenched at Morgana's heart, and she hesitated, suddenly unsure what to do.

The sensible thing, she told herself, would be to gut the little rat before he ran off blabbing. But another voice in the back of her mind was telling her that he was just a child. She'd never had any quarrel with children before. Children were innocent. They did not know the harsh realities of the world around them and could not be expected to take the blame for the actions of their forbearers.

"Speak quick then," she told him, lowering the dagger and letting him go. He staggered back a few paces, glanced about to make sure they were alone, then began to explain what he had found out.

"My big brother's a squire in the castle, Milady. I was visiting him the other day to give him his lunch when the King's manservant and Sir Gwaine came to the stables. At first it seemed like they were arguing about something. My brother and I ducked out of sight behind some bales of hay and listened. It seemed the Lady Dante was not getting any better and the King wanted to kill her out of mercy, but Sir Gwaine wanted to try magic to heal her first. The King forbade it, but he was going to go ahead and defy him anyway. Then Merlin told him about a sorcerer who could help. He told him where to go, and Sir Gwaine promised to keep it a secret that Merlin knew the sorcerer. Then he went galloping off to find him."

This was much more interesting information than Morgana had ever expected from the boy and for a moment she was rendered speechless as she took it all in. Then she snapped back to her senses.

"Who was this sorcerer they spoke of?"

"It was hard to hear, Milady. They'd moved into the courtyard by this point. But it sounded something like 'Empress'. I remember because I thought it was a weird name."

"Empress?" Morgana repeated, confused. "Empress?...Em...Emrys!"

"Yeah that's it! Emrys!" The boy nodded.

"And...and was he...did Gwaine bring him back...to the castle?" Morgana asked, fighting to hold back the shock and fear at hearing that name.

"I don't know if he found him, but Sir Gwaine was alone when he returned."

Morgana turned away and began to pace for a moment. The boy took this as his cue to leave, thinking that she probably wouldn't be willing to depart with any more money in the near future - not with the look she'd given him as he'd confirmed the name Emrys. It was like she'd seen a ghost.

As he reached the opposite end of the short alley, however, she called back to him.

"What's your name boy?"

"Tomas, milady!"

"You haven't seen me, Tomas, and this conversation never took place. Do I need to tell you what will happen if anyone ever finds out?"

"No milady," he assured her. He may have been just seven years of age, but he was old enough to understand a threat when he heard one. She nodded, then pulled out her pouch of gold coins. There weren't many left inside - perhaps six or seven - so she tossed the whole pouch to him.

"Thank you Tomas. You have been a great help."

"Thank you, Milady!" He bowed to her, before tying the pouch to his belt and running out of the alley as fast as his little legs would carry him.

This new development had given her much to think about, and now only raised more questions than answers.

How did Merlin know Emrys?

Why was her mortal enemy helping to save the life of her acolyte?

Did he know that Dante was working for her?

Did he give Gwaine a cure?

If he did, had it worked?

And if it had worked, why hadn't people been told that she was alright?

Why were they still believing that she was fighting for her life?

Why hadn't Arthur allowed magic to be used to cure Dante? His own father had permitted the use of magic in extreme circumstances despite his hatred of it. Why hadn't Arthur?

And what was Emrys up to? What was his game?

Was he hoping to win Dante's favour, then turn her against her own mistress?

Dante's far too loyal for that, she tried to convince herself during the long walk back to her hut. She'd never willingly turn against me...would she?