Going about his work, Merlin had felt disbelief steal over him. Surely Morgana Pendragon, evil witch who'd tried to kill him, who showed no regard for human life and seemed incapable of love, surely she wasn't in his bedroom, ready to make peace with Arthur? Or if she was, was it part of some wider scheme? Some witchcraft?

Once, between errands, Merlin became so gripped with the fear that he'd return and find Gaius laying dead upon the floor - felled by Morgana's hand - that he'd run back, arriving panting and breathless only to see Gaius' surprised glance as the physician mixed potions in a mortar.

Now, as he takes the stairs to his room with a jump, a cloth-covered plate of food chattering in his hand, he is again gripped by a sudden fear, albeit a different one. What if she's gone, when he opens the door?

But she isn't. She's still there, a hunched figure kneeling on the floor. Her hands are clasped under her chin and her eyes are screwed shut, as though she is praying. He stops for a minute in the faint light from the candle she's lit and placed on the cupboard and looks at her. She's obviously taken advantage of the water he brought her, as her dark hair is damp and shiny, a long plait tied tight with twine, conforming to the curves of her neck. The dress, too soiled and mould scented to wear further, has been discarded in a corner of the room. Instead, she's taken some of Merlin's clothes from his drawers - a pair of brown trousers rolled up at the ankles; a faded red shirt, the long sleeves of which fall over her clasped hands and are clutched in her gripping fingertips.

She seems suddenly to become aware of his presence, and scrambles to her feet, almost tripping over the long trousers.

"Sorry, I didn't see you there."

"Six," says Merlin.

"What?" she leans gently against the windowsill as though counting on it to keep her upright and looks at him confusedly.

"That's how many times you've apologised to me since this morning," he explains, "I've been counting. You can stop now. Were you praying?"

She shrugs, reaching for the plate in his hands and lifting up the cloth. "Yes, I suppose I do that a lot now."

He frowns - he's never remembered her as particularly religious. "What were you praying for?" he asks her cautiously. Morgana looks down at the food, pulling hungrily at a shred of coarse barley bread and pushing it down her throat. Merlin feels a pang of guilt at his thoughtlessness; of course she's hungry. He should have brought her food much earlier.

"Forgiveness," says Morgana simply.

Merlin looks down. He's thought about this all day, what she's done and what he wants to happen now. And he thinks he knows what to say next. "If it helps," he replies uncertainly, looking up at her from his seated position on the bed, "If it helps, I forgive you."

She stops her starved swallowing and looks back at him, disbelief turning to joy in her eyes. The praying, that's not real - she's never prayed for forgiveness in her life. But the joy - that is. She never realised how much she wanted Merlin to forgive her. "It does. It does help."

Merlin smiles awkwardly, unsure what to do with the candle lit emotion in her bright green eyes. He stretches self consciously and asks the question that's been in his mind all day. "So what happened, Morgana? You didn't just suddenly decide to do this."

Plate empty, Morgana lifts a slim chicken bone and fiddles with it, drawing the sharp end harshly across the palm of her hand. Nodding, she begins on the story she's memorised, trying to make it as convincing as possible. "No. I was with Morgause, for a long time. Then she...there was this village. She claimed its elder had disobeyed her. She wanted to raze it to the ground, this whole village, mothers and babies and children. I told her no."

"You've never had any problems with children dying before," Merlin can't help pointing out.

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm developing a conscience."

Merlin smiles slightly. "About time."

Her lips quirk in a laugh. "Yes. Anyway, she said if I wouldn't be a good girl and do as I was told I'd have to go. So I went."

"How long ago was that?" Merlin asks her.

Morgana lifts her face, features blurred by shadow. "A few months. I lived on my own for a while, sleeping wherever I could and scavenging for food. It took me a long time, but eventually I realised that what I needed to do was come back here. Come home, apologise. I...I don't want to be hunted my whole life Merlin. And I'm not the person I was, I'm not as heartless as she was."

"That was really brave of you," Merlin tells her honestly.

Her smile shows she doesn't really believe his words. "Thanks."

"What are we going to do now? About Arthur?" Merlin changes the topic, sensing that she doesn't want to think anymore about the times that have brought her here.

"Oh, I was thinking about that. If you could get me some paper and a pen I could write a letter. You could say I sent it to you, perhaps he'll agree to an audience after he's read my apology." And as soon as I have that audience, thinks Morgana, I will kill the king.

"That makes sense. I'll get you the things tomorrow." Merlin looks at her, the iron resolve under the pale skin. "You should sleep now," he adds gently. "Gaius'll be back from his rounds soon, we don't want him to hear us."

"No, of course not. If you'll lend me a blanket, I'll sleep down here," she gestures vaguely to the floor. Merlin looks shocked.

"I wasn't suggesting you sleep on the floor, Morgana," he says. "You take the bed, I'll sleep down here."

"But -"

"It's fine."

Morgana hesitates, but eventually nods gratefully and climbs under the covers still dressed, handing him several of the blankets which litter the top of the bed. Merlin nods his thanks, blowing out the candle and pulling the covers around himself around himself on the wooden floorboards. It's uncomfortable, and he doubts whether he'll sleep at all. He wriggles, trying to find a position that hurts his bones less.

"Merlin?" Morgana's voice comes out of the darkness. She tries to tell herself that she must stick, absolutely, to the plan, and that this suggestion isn't part of it. But she can't stop herself. She's been just as starved of touch as she has been of food.

"Yes?"

"Get into the bed, Merlin. You won't sleep at all there."

"Morgana, I told you, I'm not letting you sleep on the floor -"

"That wasn't really what I was suggesting."

"Oh," Merlin hesitates. The bed is fairly large, perhaps it would be alright, for a single night...After a moment he shakes off his discomfort and stands up, pulling aside the cover and fitting himself as close to the edge of the bedstead as possible. She's so close to him. Merlin's glad of the thick woollen blankets that hide the involuntary excitement of his body. The only sound in the quiet dark is their ragged breathing, the brush of Morgana's hand along the rough pillow. She stops with her fingertips millimetres from his face. "Sleep well," she whispers, closing her eyes.

But he doesn't sleep. He watches her instead, the translucent film of her eyelids blinking him some coded message from deep within her dreams.