Morgana was deep into a draft, slashing out line after line in dissatisfaction. The words she chose always seemed to ring hollow, no matter how many times she rewrote them. She supposed this was why rulers hired speechwriters. Or in Arthur's special case, kept Merlin around. Morgana had even grown up with the privilege of an impeccable education, while Merlin's writing, though not uneloquent, had been riddled with all the errors and misspellings to be expected from a peasant boy raised in a tiny farming village. She recalled, with a twisting in her gut, looking them over with him, correcting his work as they sat quietly side by side, occasionally trading jabs at Arthur.

It rankled to admit she had no idea how to approach such a monumental task. These little words were more important than any Morgana had previously written. These little words would decide the fate of a kingdom. Her kingdom. Morgana bit her lower lip, startled as her usually steady hand seemed to shake minutely around the quill. Gently, Morgana set it aside. This wasn't going to work.

Now that she had broken her focus, Morgana heard a quiet tapping against the window. Carefully, she tucked away all the important documents on her desk before rising from her chair. It wouldn't do for any sneaky visitors to nose around in her private business.

Without any particular haste, Morgana opened the window to the monarch's chambers. A large, black raven shimmied huffily through the gap and flew to its regular perch on the edge of her desk, cross. Morgana sat, beckoning impatiently. Despite its rising outrage, the raven extended its foot to her dutifully. Morgana untied the tiny roll of parchment and unrolled it flat on her desk.

Absolute gibberish. To anyone else, that was.

"Dear old friends keep secrets tight," Morgana whispered, watching the charm lift from the parchment. The front slowly disappeared, revealing the message hidden beneath:

Gweiadur Woodlands, three nights hence.

Follow the markings. -K

Once Morgana finished reading, she banished the ink with a muttered spell. She wrote her response on the same parchment. It read:

It is settled. Expect me. -M

Just as Morgana was finishing the tail of the "M," an urgent knock on her chamber door caused her to flinch, spattering ink across the page. She growled in irritation. Who would dare interrupt her in her own chambers? A servant? Whoever they were, they had better start running before she wrapped her hands around their neck and started squeezing.

"Gaius," Morgana demanded upon opening the door, eyebrows lifting in surprise. There had to be a good reason for Gaius to directly seek her out. "What is the meaning of this imposition?"

The grim lines on Gaius' face were even more pronounced than usual. "Your majesty, the druids have sent word."

Morgana's mind raced. The druids? What word could the druids send that demanded her immediate attention? Her stomach dropped.

"How is Sir Leon?" she asked. At that, Gaius sneered.

"He is fine," he growled. His entire demeanor was contrary to his words. It was taking everything in him to be civil, Morgana realized. "He's resting at the druid camp."

"That isn't the whole story." Morgana was beginning to get a bit frustrated, herself. "Tell me what happened."

"They don't know. They found him collapsed in the forest, bleeding from a wound in his side." Gaius inhaled harshly. "It reopened."

"On his side?" Morgana's brows drew together. Had he gotten it saving Isobel? From her understanding, and from what she'd seen, he'd suffered mainly heavy bruising in the scuffle. That, and— well.

"The wound is from The Battle," Gaius informed her. "In case you were wondering." He gritted his teeth, holding back. "Your majesty."

"Say what you want to say, Gaius," Morgana said, dangerously. It wasn't an offering of permission, it was a challenge. Say it, old man. Say it was my fault.

Morgana watched as Gaius quaked with fury, holding her breath in anticipation. He was about to lose it on her, she knew it. She needed it. But then, abruptly, the fight seemed to drain from him. He scrutinized her, brow furrowing. Morgana stared at him incredulously. He must have found what he was looking for because he nodded. "That was all the druid told me. Your majesty," he said. Then he turned and left.

Morgana watched him leave. And then, after he'd gone, she watched the empty corridor. Absurdly, an urge to throw something came over her.

Leon woke with a gasp, sitting up too fast. He winced, clutching his side regretfully. His heart had yet to calm down, and his breaths were still coming quickly when he realized he wasn't alone. And not where he'd last remembered being. Though not waking up on the ground in a puddle of his own blood was probably a good sign. A wide-eyed druid boy sat in watch of him, fleeing from the tent as soon as he and Leon met eyes.

"Wait—" Leon called, reaching out. But he was already gone. Fast little tyke.

Leon settled stiffly back as he was, regretting trying to move. His heart rate slowly returned to normal as he regulated his breathing. This was getting ridiculous.

It wasn't long at all before a familiar figure ducked under the flaps of the tent, grinning. "Sir Leon! It is good to see you again," said Iseldir, voice booming and warm. Leon hissed in a breath involuntarily, causing Iseldir's eyes to narrow perceptively. "What is it? You're looking at me like you've seen a restless spirit."

Leon chuckled weakly. "Nothing. Just surprised to see you." He wasn't about to explain to Iseldir the gruesome role he'd played in Leon's latest dream. "I never properly thanked you for what you did. It didn't sit right with me." Iseldir hummed a little, plopping down next to Leon unceremoniously.

"Then it is fate that we meet again, Leon." His eyes twinkled. "Pity the circumstances must be as grim."

"I'm just grateful to get the opportunity to speak with you again. I was brash and untrusting to you and the others when all you were trying to do was help. I see that now. I wanted to say— I wanted to apologize."

"Not your fault, young man. None of us can control the influence society impresses on us. It is only a matter of if you choose to grow from it." He smiled mischievously. "You're coming along nicely, Sir Leon."

Leon blinked, unsure how to feel about that. As a knight of Camelot, he supposed he should resent it. Oddly, the comment seemed to settle warmly in his chest. Eventually, he decided to disregard the whole ordeal, unwanted feelings and all. He was a loyal knight of Camelot, not a victim of it.

"That's nice of you to say," Leon replied after a long beat. The words rang empty. Iseldir hummed again, looking almost disappointed.

"Rest. Take all the time you need to recover. Our healer did all he could to treat your wounds, but our resources are scarce, I'm afraid, and your body has obviously been through a lot." Iseldir gave him a meaningful glance. There was no pity in it, simply a deeply shared sympathy. "The infection, at least, will not return."

"I don't deserve your kindness. Thank you again." Leon dipped his head gratefully. But Iseldir was not done.

"Take care, Leon. If you neglect yourself any longer, the damage could be irreparable," he said gently. Even so, Leon felt the weight behind his words press heavily against his heart.

Iseldir patted his arm before standing. "I won't pester you anymore. Rest, while you have the chance. Morgana is not without empathy, but she is no longer the soft-hearted woman she once was," he said, eyes sad. "Emrys save you all." And with that odd blessing, he was gone. Leon shrugged it off, reckoning "Emrys" was some druidic deity Leon had never heard of.

Utterly drained, he lay back in the makeshift bed, closing his eyes. His sleep could be anything but restful, however, it would be foolish not to at least try. Iseldir seemed to know everything, and Leon felt he was a man to be trusted. A sorcerer to be trusted.

With that traitorous thought still echoing through his mind, Leon drifted off once more.

When Morgana barged into the medical tent, coiled as a spring and in a hurry, Leon was already awake. But only just. He was clutching his chest, gasping. His face was wan, sweat beading down his temples. Instantly, Morgana understood. Leon blinked, mortified. Then he looked away, clearing his throat.

"Lady Morgana."

There was a long, awkward pause. Morgana didn't know the man well enough to even begin addressing this, so she didn't.

"How are you?" she asked tentatively.

"Recovering. Thank you," Leon said curtly, hastily trying to reestablish some distance between them after that embarrassingly personal intrusion. Morgana was glad for it, hoping to gloss over the whole ordeal for good.

"What happened?" she demanded. "Gaius told me your wound reopened. The druids tell me you must have encountered some trouble on your way here."

"Yes. I was nearly to the druid camp when—" he hesitated. Morgana raised an eyebrow, irritated at the interruption. Leon sighed. "I stopped to take a rest. I must have dozed off. Next I know it, a bandit has a sword to my throat. My sword. The wound reopened in the scuffle."

Morgana's eyes narrowed in fierce annoyance. "I knew you were bloody avoiding the question. You weren't fit at all." I knew that. I knew he wasn't fit, dammit! Leon blinked in surprise. Morgana looked away, embarrassed at her informal outburst. "Sir Leon. I need honesty from you."

"That wasn't a part of our deal."

"You said you'd be my right-hand man if it meant your precious Camelot stayed afloat, remember? Or have you forgotten already, I can't run this kingdom properly if my only knight runs off and gets himself killed!"

"I thought I could handle it," Leon replied stubbornly.

"You were reckless." It was irrational how angry this conversation was making her. Just like with Gaius.

"Fine. I should have known my own limits."

Morgana growled, her fists tightening, her sneer deepening. "Yes. You should have." She must have been a sight. Eyes narrowed, expression tight, flyaway hairs untamed.

At this, finally, something broke through the emotionless wall Leon had erected. He looked at her, furrowing his brow slightly. He seemed almost puzzled.

"Lady Morgana…" he began, hesitantly. "It wasn't your fault."

The words struck her like a blow to the face. She inhaled raggedly. "I didn't say that," she said quietly.

Leon didn't seem to have heard her. "I ran out of Gaius' remedies nearly a week ago. I— didn't think I needed them anymore."

Did Leon truly think that, or had he simply chosen to neglect his wounds out of some sense of misplaced guilt? 'You failed, Leon.'

"I agreed to the mission. I take full responsibility for the consequences I suffered." Morgana couldn't respond, not to this. It was as if he'd punched her in the gut, and it was too painful to eke out even a single word. You're wrong. You're wrong.

"Besides, if it wasn't for your dragon… I'll admit, I would be dead now. I was slow… clumsy. He was just a kid who couldn't even hold a sword properly," he said. "Did you send her to watch over me? I think she was following me from the beginning, as soon as I stepped foot into the forest."

"Aithusa?" Morgana said, stunned. Aithusa had saved Leon's life? What did that mean? Was she still out there somewhere, watching Morgana too?

"Aithusa." He smiled wryly. "Thank her for me."

Morgana snapped her mouth shut, closing off. "Let's go. Gaius will look you over when we get back." Leon grimaced. Morgana didn't have time for this. She was already cutting it close, being here at all. Now she was standing here wasting time. "Come on, get up. You'll heal up much faster in Camelot."

Leon did, hissing under his breath. Morgana was reminded of that day, ordering him to follow after her as he lay in a bloody heap. He hadn't disappointed her then, and now, it seemed, he was determined to do the same. Wobbly, he made it to his feet. His face was stony, resolved.

"Let's go," he said.

He might not be dressed like it now, but with or without the garb, Leon was a knight, through and through. She hid her fond smile as she turned toward the entrance, holding the flap up for him. "Your horse is tied up next to mine. The druids took good care of her."

"They're good people," Leon replied quietly. Morgana silently took notice that he seemed right at ease in the druid camp. She felt oddly conflicted about tearing him away from it when Iseldir came around and gave Leon a hearty pat on the shoulder. They spoke quietly for a minute before Iseldir helped the man onto his horse and told him to take care.

Steadily, they made their way back home. Leon, only a little worse for wear by her eye, was sent straight to the court physician. Morgana, not pausing to sleep, set out again. She could still make the rendezvous if she pressed through this night and the next without stopping.