Author's Note: another fun deviation from canon here! Please enjoy!


Guinevere enters his chambers without deference or decorum. "He was playing with the children," she greets the prince of Camelot, future king of the realm. Her tone is curt, but not quite upset. "If you care to know."

Arthur raises his head from his folded arms and sits up straight. He blinks bleary eyes and ignores Morgana's smirk at him from across his dining table. For the first time since Uther's celebrations started, they decided to meet in his chambers for lunch.

He has spent most of the last hour napping on his half-eaten plate.

He feels wretched. And Morgana, naturally, did not spare him much sympathy when he began to complain. She did let him doze, though, and sat with him while he did so, so perhaps she does have something of a heart.

Her budding magic, in contrast, had sympathy in abundance. It took all of Arthur's concentration to extract himself from Merlin's magic so he could focus on hers. He attempted it out of sheer desperation and exhaustion, and when he found his way to her, the familiar icy tendrils reached out to his senses immediately, caressing and subtle. It felt lovely against his overtaxed mind, so much so that he sighed in relief and muttered without thinking, "You'll be better at tending ailments of the mind than he will, I think."

Morgana started, staring hard at Arthur. "What do you mean?"

But Arthur already laid his head down, inexplicably embarrassed and mumbling garbled nonsense about how she'd better not listen to him when he's in this state, he doesn't know what he's talking about, ignore him.

She dropped it when it became obvious he danced the edge between wakefulness and sleep, but not before he heard her painfully wistful whisper of, "You will explain what you meant by that, or so help me, Arthur Pendragon."

He doesn't know if he can explain it. It's just something he knows. Just as well as he knows Merlin's connection to the land, sky, and sea will make it a little more difficult for him to learn healing of any kind, as his magic does not always inherently care for the trifles of the flesh.

He supposes he'll find it all very fascinating later, but as it happens, all he really wants to do is lay his head back down and let Morgana's still-developing magic have a little more time to wash him out.

Currently, neither of the women look very much like she cares what he wants. Both stare at him like he's a subject of gross fascination they found crushed on the soles of their riding boots.

Arthur blinks again at Guinevere, who raises her eyebrows even higher at him, before he registers her words as part of a language he actually speaks. It takes him a moment to reorient himself. Full comprehension, context, and extrapolation take a little longer.

"Ah," he says belatedly, rubbing at crusty eyes. Irritation colors his tone. "I see you've met Merlin."

"Did you?" Morgana asks her maidservant, curious. "Where?" She looks between Gwen and Arthur, brow furrowing as she takes in Arthur's irritable expression and Gwen's mild, disappointed frown. Arthur can see the moment she takes Gwen's side. Her tone is suddenly biting and accusatory when she presses, "What happened?"

Guinevere flips off her cloak and folds it nearly over an armchair. She looks toward Arthur from the corner of her eye, a glint of mischief highlighting the humor she's struggling, at least in part, to hide. "Perhaps the prince would care to explain."

Arthur narrows his eyes at Gwen as Morgana turns to him. "There isn't much to explain," he says to them, folding his arms. "Merlin insulted one of our guests—an acclaimed knight and the firstborn son to Lord Eadgar, mind you. Sir Edrick would have done worse if I had not intervened and sent the damn fool to the stocks instead."

A beat of silence, then: "You sent your sorcerer to the stocks?" Morgana asks in disbelief.

Gwen hides her face, but her shoulders quake with withheld laughter.

"He's not anything of mine but a thorn in my side!" Arthur snaps, temper flaring.

"You're ridiculous," Arthur hears from Guinevere. "Utterly ridiculous. I cannot believe—"

Arthur doesn't wait to hear the rest. "He's asinine and equally mule-headed!" he protests. The festering emotion he'd quelled ever since Merlin rebuked him froths to the forefront, and he cannot articulate his aggravation with anything more than: "He deserved it."

The very second the words come out of his mouth, he knows it was the wrong thing to say.

"He deserved it?" Morgana repeats, pouncing at once. "What are you, a child?"

Gwen composes herself, and when she faces Arthur, there is some mild censure in her expression, but not enough to truly hide the hint of a smile on her lips. "His Majesty forgets to mention that Merlin stepped in to stop the acclaimed Sir Edrick and his brother from bullying one of the armory boys. I think a lot of the castle servants are quite taken with him for his actions."

Morgana's expression sours further, her lips pursed. "Arthur," she says simply, like a lecturing mother. "A training yard brawl? Really?"

Arthur's hackles rise. "It wasn't nearly so simple. Merlin insulted Edrick's honor, questioned his position as a knight and as a man of nobility. In front of half of the visiting court and some of our own knights."

"Good for Merlin," Morgana says, tone vicious. "More than a few of you need a little humbling, in my opinion."

The yourself included hangs in the air between them, beating a pulse of shame against Arthur's chest. She doesn't need to say more. The unhappy twist to her lips implies she knows exactly what sort of position Merlin put him in and that, no matter how much she dislikes the circumstances that put him there, she understands the decisions he made. She may be bold, fearless, and consistently butting heads with the king, but standing up to defy the entire court and their current culture is something she typically does only after careful consideration and clever maneuvering.

Arthur had neither of those options available to him. He had to make a correction then and there to prevent the situation from escalating.

He fights back a rush of familiar envy. As the king's ward, Morgana has always had more leeway. She can make more mistakes, push more boundaries. The gossip Morgana might generate for some of her more unconventional behavior and ideals does not compare to what might happen if Arthur lost the respect and loyalty of his father's current—and his future—court.

Frustration floods him again. Merlin's accusations the previous night ring in his ears, jabbing at all his weak spots.

Damn him. One day in Camelot, and even a peasant from Essetir can see the cracks in the Pendragon regime's foundation. Even Merlin can point out that the meanings of 'respect' and 'loyalty' need some redefining if Arthur is to ever find a way to pay penance for his father's sins.

"I did what I could to keep his tongue in his mouth," Arthur mumbles, not for the first time. And probably not for the last. "Forget his magic, he's going to get himself killed because of his sheer insolence if he keeps on."

"So you do care," Morgana observes lightly.

Arthur doesn't have a mature response for that, so he bites his tongue and fumes.

Morgana ignores his pouting and leans forward to say, "Ignoring the inherent moral argument here about Edrick's abuse of power and your complicity—"

"Complicity?" Arthur splutters, outraged. "I wasn't—"

Morgana ignores him. "—you do realize you have humiliated and potentially ostracized a powerful sorcerer? Who could have helped us?"

"Merlin couldn't help an ant find a breadcrumb in front of its own face, let alone—"

"Arthur. Be serious."

Arthur swallows his pride and shakes his head, pushing his chair away from the table to stand. "Fine. But not with these people. The idiot hasn't burnt any bridges, but even without his magic putting a battering ram to my head all day long, I…I admit I might not be able to discern if we have any allies here, Morgana."

And I don't know how to proceed , he doesn't say aloud. He squirms in the knowledge that he doesn't have a handhold to grasp, let alone a visible direction to take.

He doesn't like feeling like a fool. He likes it even less than he does feeling lost.

He likes it least of all when Merlin is the one pointing out all of Arthur's failings, as though he's known Arthur as long as he's known his own reflection.

As though he can see straight through Arthur to his core, where he harbors his most secret dreams, doubts, and desires.

Damn him.

"Perhaps it's just as well," Guinevere says, always the voice of reason. "Surely you want to find support from people who care about what you stand for, rather than the title you hold."

Despite himself, Arthur winces. Gwen notices, and he finds himself answering her unasked question with a terse explanation. "He said something similar, last night."

Gwen, to her credit, does not give him any reason to believe she's patronizing him when she says, "I…don't suppose I know Merlin well—not yet—but I…" She pauses and forges forward with more confidence, "I don't think a powerful sorcerer who plays make-believe with children to have some fun in the stocks will hold a grudge for something like this." She lays a tentative hand on Arthur's shoulder. "I don't think you've burnt this bridge either."

Arthur isn't so sure he wants the bridge intact, but some small part of him—the same part that left the dungeons the previous night ashamed and furious with himself—knows he needs, craves, what lies at the other end.

Friends challenge you, Merlin said.

Do they? Do they really? No one has stood up to him like that. Ever.

"Good," Morgana says, standing with lithe grace and brushing her hair over one shoulder. "Even if you claim you don't need or want him, Arthur, I do."

"Gods, Morgana," Arthur says, wriggling in discomfort at the hungry, predatory glint in her eye, "leave him alone. My father cannot know he exists as anything more than 'Gaius' ward.' I promised him. I promised to stay out of his affairs. For everyone's safety."

"You made no promises for me," Morgana says, smiling with all her teeth.

Gods help them all, Arthur thinks. "I'm not sure what he can teach you," he says aloud. "His magic is…"

Arthur trails off when Morgana's smile falters. Some of her conviction fades with it. "It's not that, Arthur," she says. "You know it isn't just that."

His gaze skips across her face. There's an uncharacteristic vulnerability and well-hidden, persistent fear in her eyes, overpowered only by the ever-fragile blossoms of hope. Arthur sighs. He can't deny her this, no matter how ill-advised it would be for Morgana to step from 'meeting Merlin ' to 'practicing with Merlin ' right under his father's nose. "It's dangerous," he warns still. "You shouldn't go out of your way to see him. If my father found out…"

Morgana does not withhold a cringe, but the defiance in her eyes reignites.

Great gods. Arthur's just issued her a challenge.

Merlin's doomed. He's doomed.

"Merlin doesn't know we know, does he?" Gwen asks Arthur. "He looked bewildered when I recognized his name. He did not know mine."

Arthur nods. "I'm sure you can understand why I didn't tell him. I can tell he's not as comfortable with me knowing as he lets on." He gives Morgana a pointed look. "Please consider what I'm saying, Morgana. I trust Merlin wouldn't hurt you, but I can't trust my father or his guards wouldn't do something abhorrent if any of them found you unchaperoned with him, magic or no."

Morgana sneers, as expected. She never did take well to being reminded that, to a majority of the older generation of nobility and some of their male peers, she's valued as a woman whose dowry and chastity are more attractive than her personality. Woe to all those who dare to approach Morgana with so much as a hint of that sentiment.

"I'll have Gwen with me, of course," she says stiffly. "A perfectly respectable chaperone."

"That's not…" Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose and treads more carefully. "Morgana, you know I'm talking about more than your reputation. Father will eviscerate anyone who remotely looks at you. In any capacity. And if you're caught speaking in private with a peasant…"

"You forget Merlin is more than a peasant," Gwen says casually. "He's not just the physician's ward. He's likely going to be the physician's apprentice."

"Trust me, Arthur," Morgana says, eyes flinty. "You needn't worry."

Arthur has a feeling he's lost the argument. There's a knock at the door, a signal from the guards that a messenger's arrived. He sighs, bracing himself. The king's summons, likely. He takes one last deep breath, then slowly retracts his senses from where they've been idling.

Merlin's magic smothers him immediately in a blaze of euphoria and chaos, and he withdraws into himself with a sharp yank and twist of concentration. He chafes, skin aflame, gut roiling, all peace he managed to garner from Morgana's presence lost in a typhoon of sensation. His arm feels like a wraith's as he reaches for his sword and belt. He's almost surprised when neither fazes through his fingers.

"Don't scare him," he says, flexing his tingling fingers and buckling his sword belt on. "He'll not thank us for keeping him in the dark, and I don't have the time or inclination to impress upon him what an absolute gorgon you are."

"He'll not thank you, I'd imagine," Morgana corrects, smirking. "Seeing as you probably haven't apologized, or done much to prove to him you're not a total coxcomb, have you?"

Arthur doesn't respond with more than a scowl.

It was a rhetorical question.

~...~

Gaius puts Merlin to work the moment he's cleaned up.

"I'm running low on henbane, wormwood, and sorrel," Gaius tells him as he bustles around his chambers, pulling a number of boiled strips of cloth, medicine vials, and suture instruments into his bag. There's an emergency at the other end of the castle he must see to, and in his rush, his manner is brusque but not unkind as he shoves something else at Merlin.

Merlin's fingers curl around the offering. He peers at the vial, trying to decipher the ingredients on the label. Gaius nods at it as he drapes the strap of his bag over his shoulder. "That is for the Lady Morgana. I fear I haven't had the opportunity to talk with her in more depth about her nightmares, but she requested this for a dreamless sleep until…well, hopefully we can sit and talk after our visitors leave. Deliver that by the end of the day, if you will."

He pats Merlin's hand paternally and leaves, calling over his shoulder that he may not be back for dinner.

Merlin stands in the middle of the physician's tower, stunned and staring at the little vial in his hand. The Lady Morgana. An eruption of nervous energy courses through him like a flooding river. An encroaching sense of…promise, of hope, sets him on a precipice of expectation. The prince told him, rather inadvertently, that Morgana herself has magic, that she is one of two other people he ever trusted with his secret.

Perhaps Arthur, again inadvertently, had told her of his magic, too. How was he to know? Arthur never said as much. And if not? The prince may trust Morgana, but should he ? Something like fear churns in his belly, and Merlin stalls, uncertain what to do with the opportunity that's presented itself.

Merlin's never met anyone else with magic. Flustered, giddy panic flutters in his chest at the prospect, followed immediately by sheer dread at the thought of making an awkward introduction even more awkward. He doesn't know how he should conduct himself. Should he ask her about her magic? Should he mention his? Would she even care ? Who is he to her, anyway, but a country bumpkin to a lady of the court?

I'm overthinking this, Merlin chastises himself. She may not even be there to receive me. I'm probably going to hand this off to whoever is waiting on her and be on my way.

He laughs weakly at himself and rubs his forehead. Stupid of him to presume, really. Just because he's met Arthur does not mean he has any right to expect meeting another prominent member of the Pendragon household.

It's better this way, he tells himself. No one else needs to know. No one else should know about his magic.

That's how it has to be.

To keep you safe, healthy, happy. He imagines the mantra in his mother's voice and feels the phantom press of her lips against his forehead, her callused hands petting his hair.

To keep others safe from monsters like you, his own sardonic voice whispers at him.

A pang of loneliness tangles with the unavoidable disappointment, but Merlin swallows it and the growing lump in his throat. It shouldn't bother him. This is all he's ever known.

Though perhaps that's one more piece of blame to lay at Prince Arthur's feet: for giving him a glimpse of hope only to rip the illusion away.

Maybe…maybe Gwen will be the one to accept the delivery. The thought cheers Merlin. Gwen was really kind to him earlier, and she has absolutely nothing to do with magic. It will be nice to see her, even if it is only to say hello and hand off the sleeping draft.

A 'hello' here; a 'having a good day in the stocks? ' there…That's all it takes to make friends, sometimes, isn't it?

He idles a little longer in Gaius' chambers, carefully reviewing the physician's herb stores just in case his great-uncle had forgotten to add anything to the list. Gaius will likely appreciate the extra thoughtfulness and initiative, and after the debacle on the training fields and his night in the dungeons, Merlin has a fair amount of making up to do. He figures taking a noticeable interest in the physician's craft is a good place to start.

The process of analytically cataloging Gaius' current stock helps settle him. He finds himself trying to puzzle out the purpose of some of Gaius' carefully pre-made powders and potions based on his current knowledge of herblore. Many of the labeled medicines are unfamiliar to him, and a part of him delights in that. He makes a few mental notes to ask Gaius about them before taking up an empty satchel for herbs and leaving the physician's tower.

He has to ask for directions to Lady Morgana's rooms. Morgana, like Gaius, has a tower to herself, though hers faces north, toward the Darkling Woods. Merlin catches glimpses of the distant treeline as he passes windows in the corridors up to her rooms, and from this height, he marvels at the sight. Amazing, how easy it is to forget that he's currently multiple stories into the air.

He's so distracted almost misses the little staircase hugging the wall. The nearest guards hold their posts at least two corridors away, and there is no other sign to announce the presence of the king's ward. Breathing something of a sigh of relief, he doubles back and runs gentle fingers over the curve and curl of white stone that comprises the banister. It is simple in form, but a beautiful piece of artistry to his untrained eye. He mounts the stairs, trailing his fingers all the way up, and knocks politely at the door at the top. It is a majestic thing, made of sturdy dark wood without metal adornment or carved embellishment.

The door flings open abruptly. Startled, Merlin takes a half step back.

"Merlin!" Guinevere exclaims when she sees him, smile lighting up her face. She steps through the threshold and grabs him by the wrist. "Where have you been?"

Without waiting for more than Merlin's blank stare and confused um?, Guinevere turns back into her mistress' chambers and tugs Merlin along. "Morgana's had a time arranging this, you know," she chides, as though Merlin had been in on the conspiracy from the beginning and he should have known better than to be late. "She had to have a good reason to send her guards away. It was a bit of a chore, what with the king's tendency toward overprotectiveness."

"I—what?" Merlin asks, utterly baffled as he stumbles after her. Suspicion and alarm send zings up his scalp. "I'm just here to deliver medicine?"

When Gwen grins at him, exuding a casual familiarity he doesn't exactly share, he has a moment of blinding panic, and it's so disorienting he almost doubts his own intentions. "Aren't I?"

"Well, sure," Gwen says, laughing and winking. "That was the excuse."

The excuse? Merlin wonders stupidly. What in the hell was going—?

He trips to a halt. He can't help gaping as he takes in the open, sunlit space; the gauzy curtains, the rich tapestries, embroidered bedding, and absolutely massive bed. It looks softer than clouds, piled with goose-feather down pillows and a fluffy white duvet. The dining table is made of the same wood as the chamber door, oiled to a sultry shine, each chair around it carved with veins of ivy vine and upholstered with a cushion of deep green velvet.

He thought Gaius' rooms were spacious beyond comparison. But this? This is opulence. This is wealth. The entirety of his one-story childhood home would have been dwarfed by Morgana's chambers at least three or four times over.

A shimmer of blue and purple silk draws his eye, and Merlin's mouth goes dry.

The Lady Morgana is a vision out of a dream. She wears her dark hair in loose waves that cascade past her shoulders and down her back. The kohl lining her eyes highlights the icy jade color, accentuated even further by her creamy, flawless skin and the sharp angles of her cheekbones and jawline. The hint of a smirk plays at her unpainted lips.

"Well, Arthur wasn't about to introduce us," Lady Morgana teases. She cocks her head at him, eyes trailing up and down his frame. "I had to take matters into my own hands."

Merlin immediately feels inadequate under her piercing, dangerous scrutiny, and a flush rises up his neck and dusts his cheeks. He lowers his eyes from hers, face burning as he stares down at the rough fabric of his third-best tunic. It was a hand-me-down from a neighbor in Ealdor much larger than him. The thin, fraying belt he used to tie some of the excess fabric back makes him feel even shabbier and out of place.

Her words and their implications register late, and as he pieces the facts together, his face reddens further, heart sprinting through his chest.

She knows, part of him intuits.

They both know.

Merlin shoots a look at Gwen, who gives him a bright, unassuming smile. One of two, he remembers Arthur saying. One of two he ever trusted to know of his ability. Morgana and…

Oh.

Some things about his meeting with Gwen are starting to make a lot more sense now.

"Er…hello," he says, a little weakly. The tremble in his voice is obvious to his own ears. Gwen releases his wrist and gives him a little encouraging nudge. His arm flops uselessly to his side.

"Hello, Merlin," Morgana returns in a kind voice that doesn't quite match her cold, aloof beauty.

Merlin's tongue stalls, as though leaden. After a delay, his clammy fingers fumble at the vial of sleeping draft he tucked into his bag. He swallows roughly and proffers the vial. "From Gaius," he mumbles.

Morgana rises with fluid grace and takes the vial without looking at it. She sets it aside.

Without anything left in his hands to fiddle with, Merlin doesn't know what to do with them. "This really is as awkward as I feared it would be, isn't it?" he blurts, without thinking.

Both women startle into laughter. "I should apologize," Morgana says graciously. "I didn't give you much warning. And then lured you here under a somewhat false pretense."

"That makes you sound like you have villainous intentions for me," Merlin jokes, because of course his mouth is moving without any input from his brain right now.

Morgana snorts, and it is such a distinctly unladylike sound that Merlin almost relaxes. The sound makes her human—not a noble to a peasant, not even a woman to a man; but a person to another person, no different than he is.

Her expression softens when she sees the tension in his shoulders fade, and she looks toward her beautiful glass-paned window. "Gwen and I were both here, in these rooms," she reveals, her tone gentle, "when Arthur told us what he can do. He told me my dreams were just the beginning. That…that I wasn't going mad. That they weren't just dreams."

"We were also here," Gwen added, equally gentle, "when the prince barged in and told us he sensed you coming, from miles away."

"Oh," is all Merlin can manage out of his dry mouth.

"We tried to talk him out of meeting you out there," Morgana mused, nodding her head toward the sunlit window. "He insisted, the stubborn toad."

Merlin barks an involuntary laugh. Her tone when she speaks of Arthur sounds quite reminiscent of Arthur's when he spoke of her. Funny, how similar they are. "I suppose I'm glad you failed?" he says. He wrings the strap of his bag in anxious hands. "He led me away from the execution in the square. It was…kind of him."

"Hm, well, one honorable act of thoughtfulness doesn't make up for the boor he is at heart," Morgana jibes with the teasing malice of a sibling, still not looking directly at him. Her lips curve into smirk. "But we forgive him, I suppose."

"...Right," Merlin says, for lack of anything better to say. This entire experience is surreal. It is so surreal, in fact, he doesn't feel at home in his own body, as though he's a specter looking in on his own daydream.

He's getting quite familiar with the sensation, as of late.

Morgana turns back to look at him, an odd expression on her face. Merlin wonders if he's somehow failed a test he never knew he'd been taking. "What I'm trying to say is: despite evidence to the contrary, it is safe here, Merlin. It's arguably one of the safest places in the citadel, and Gwen and I…" Her voice faltered.

"We're friends," Gwen finishes for her mistress. Her eyes rage with vehement compassion, so much so it takes Merlin's breath away. She places a bold hand on Merlin's shoulder. "We're friends of magic. Always."

"Oh," Merlin says again, dumbly. His voice cracks over the syllable, and he chuckles in a self-deprecating manner as he rubs at moist eyes. He doesn't know what to say. How to respond. "I…I never…"

Morgana smiles at him, cautious hope and shy enthusiasm on her face. "Arthur took the choice away from us—and I don't blame him, necessarily, of course I don't—but…I still want to say it. To you if no one else." Her voice quavers as she reveals, "One day, I'll be able to wield magic."

"I've had mine as long as I can remember," Merlin returns in a near whisper, heart in his throat and terror constricting his chest.

Neither of the women look alarmed or seconds away from calling the guards for their torches and pitchforks. Instead, they smile, and like ice cracking over a lake in the thrall of a new spring, Merlin finds himself mirroring their expressions.

They mean what they say, Merlin thinks to himself, utterly dumbfounded and grateful beyond words. Relief floods him, sparking a joy so deep it makes his knees weak. They mean it.

He bursts into nervous giggles that leave him breathless. "I'm—I'm sorry," Merlin gasps after taking a few gulps of air. His fingers still tremble with excess stress, and he runs them through his hair to hide the fact. "This is a little—I mean, when I came to Camelot, I…"

"I can imagine," Gwen says when he trails off without finding the right words. "Getting accosted by the prince on the road, and then being summoned by Lady Morgana? I would apologize, but we were quite excited to meet you, Merlin." She gives him a crooked smile. "I'm sorry I didn't say as much earlier, when I found out who you were out in the square. That wasn't very kind of me."

"Nah," Merlin says, automatically forgiving her. Who could hold a grudge when Guinevere seemed so earnest, so true and honest? "I'd've laughed too. It was all in good fun, yeah?"

Gwen laughs. "You were definitely a sight. And to think you could have gotten out of those cuffs anytime you wished."

Merlin brushes the comment aside, afraid to acknowledge it and unwilling to linger on why. "Time in the stocks aside," he says. "I didn't expect so much, coming to Camelot." Looking between the two, he compliments, with no small amount of awe, "You're all incredible. Being here. Keeping yourself safe while remaining so close to the king for so long. I don't know if Arthur relayed that to you, when I said it before."

"I have good friends," Morgana says. She laughs, a little wetly and self-consciously, eyes shining. "Family. But…I've never met another like me. Truly like me."

"Me neither," he admits softly.

You cannot imagine what this means to me, they tell each other without words, eyes locked on one another's. But in saying so…perhaps you're the one of the few who does.

"You're a Seer, then, Lady Morgana?" he asks, budding curiosity overcoming his hesitance.

Morgana's tentative shyness washes away. "Not yet," she says with a unique mixture of humility and disgruntlement. She flexes her fingers before her eyes, several rings catching and reflecting the sunlight. "I can't control it well. I don't know how. But Arthur seems to think that when I come into my magic, it may be easier to learn."

"The stories say that is a rare and powerful ability," Merlin says appreciatively.

"Says the sorcerer who knocked Arthur off his feet with a single spectacular bit of magic."

Merlin colors. His gut swoops instinctually at the open and casual mention of his magic. "I don't mean to," he says. "I wish I knew why it happens. I'd rather it didn't, you know, then maybe he wouldn't be such a prat about it."

Morgana's eyebrows soar upward. "Is this the real reason why he put you in the stocks?" she asks in utter delight, whispering almost conspiratorially. "Please tell me you spoke this way to him. To the visiting lords."

"Oh, he did indeed," Gwen vouches. "To the lords at least."

Morgana's eyes sparkle with mischief and youthful glee. "No wonder Arthur is in such a mood whenever we speak lately." She gives Merlin another appraising look.

"I won't stroke his ego when he's being an arse," Merlin says without thinking, and if he sounds grumpy and defensive, he won't apologize for it. "He's got enough people kissing his as it is, it seems."

The two women exchange an indescribable look, and Merlin worries he's overstepped once again, so he adds, just as childishly, and as though it will make the situation any better: "He deserved it."

Gwen heaves a sigh, her expression incredulous and amused. "You are so alike, the pair of you."

"Let me guess," Merlin says wryly as he folds his arms. "He said the same." Without waiting for a response, he snorts. "Typical."

Morgana laughs, high and bright. "I think we're going to be phenomenal friends, Merlin. I am so very disappointed Arthur couldn't have been the one to introduce us. We would have had so much fun."

Merlin scoffs and ducks his head, some shame creeping into his voice as he says, "I'm not so certain he'd care to. Now."

Sobering, Morgana takes a step closer to him, expression less amused and more concerned. "For all my joking and niggling…I have to give Arthur more credit," Morgana admits. Her lips twist, as though it is a painful admission. She draws her arms around herself in a loose embrace before scowling again and throwing her arms down. "I sometimes hate it," she says, sudden and passionate vitriol in her voice. "Where we are. Who I am forced to associate with. I don't like that we can't do more. I can tell Arthur feels trapped, more so than even me, at times."

"Can't you, though? Do more?" Merlin says, cocking his head, confused. Part of him feels a little foolish, for having to ask this question yet again. "Isn't that the benefit of being noble? You're in a position to do anything you want."

Morgana's expression twists into something dark. "Not anything. And there's truly nothing I want more than to drag Uther from that throne. To do unto him as he's done unto others. Every day, there's another reason. Every day, I feel the noose tightening around my neck. Around the necks of those I care about." Her gaze flits to Gwen. "I don't think any of us are safe from Uther's ambition and hate."

"I chose this, my Lady," Gwen says, a stalwart glint in her eye. "I will not fight with you again about it. It is the right thing to do, no matter the cost. After what Arthur's shared with us about magic, I cannot turn my back now. Or ever."

Some of the dark resentment fades from Morgana's face as she looks at her friend. "Arthur preaches caution," she tells Merlin. "I think he just…doesn't know how to go forward. How to undermine his father's power without putting himself, or any others, in the line of fire. How to ensure his own rise to power isn't going to endanger anyone further. He refuses to consider a coup, and for good reason. It would not be a peaceful one, as things stand now, and he knows he isn't ready to take the throne. We have no allies and little trust to spare. It is an impossible position we're in, and with what he can do, and with how much pain he's experienced through others, Arthur tends to put the responsibility of Uther's Purge on his own shoulders."

Merlin swallows. "And Uther holds too much sway right now," he says glumly. "Too much of Camelot is taken with his ideals. Because of fear. Misunderstanding."

Morgana nods. "Yes. Exactly. It doesn't help that we've had magic-users retaliate, perpetuating the stereotypes Uther would have us all believe."

"A vicious cycle," Merlin agrees, unease rising. "It's spilled over into Essetir. Camelot's sentiment poisons everyone in its vicinity."

Morgana gives him another piercing, calculating look. "Meeting someone like you changes things. It gives me hope we'll one day find others. Others who can share a new perspective, who can help show the common people that magic can be a force for good. And maybe one day, we'll be free."

"And maybe one day," Merlin agrees softly, sadly, though he's doubtful he personally can do much to change anything. He's not nearly so important, nor someone who'd inspire much by way of trust or respect in the circles that do, in fact, hold all the power.

No true education, hardly a penny to his name...All he has to offer is magic he hardly has any sort of mastery of. And even if he could ever gain mastery, when would he be able to use it? And for what?

Morgana, however, does not seem to see how little he has to offer. She beams at him as though he's just sworn undying allegiance to her cause. "I will not keep you much longer," she says. "My immediate guards will return soon, and I do not wish to alarm them." On a clear impulse, she reaches out and presses his hand. "You will not be a stranger," she tells him, and it is more a command than a request. "You'll think about what we've talked about?"

"Sure," Merlin says, a little warily, again uncertain what it is Morgana thinks he's agreed to. It occurs to him, just now, that this entire situation is highly illegal. He imagines the guards barging in and seeing his hand in Morgana's, and he very politely withdraws. Putting on a smile, he jokes, "Hard to forget getting ambushed by not one but three secret magic sympathizers upon arriving at Camelot. And stumbling upon a fourth in Gaius."

Another belated wave of incredulity and wonder crashes upon him, and he adds, "Thank you. For trusting me. Including me."

Gwen brushes past both of them to get the door for Merlin, and on behalf of both her mistress and herself, she says, "There's nothing to thank, Merlin. I think we're all very lucky to have found a friend in you."

(Much later, well after the Uther's feast and festival is over, Merlin will look back and joke that perhaps Gwen has a bit of the Seer's gift, too).

(Arthur, of course, would then insist that he was being ridiculous. He would have sensed as much).

(To which Merlin would respond, without missing a beat: then it's your bad luck to blame after all, isn't it?).


Next time: The Dragon's Call! :D Until next time, lovely readers!