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“How has he escaped?”
Merlin wondered why Uther bothered to ask that anymore given how often people disappeared from his dungeons. Once Arthur was king, Merlin would be sure to mention how ill-equipped the guards were to dealing with...just about everything. For the moment, however, it was a bit too convenient to warrant a complaint. Committing treason on a daily basis made it easy to become quite fond of undisciplined guards.
Arthur bowed his head to his father. “It appears the guards were drugged.”
Uther’s head snapped up. “That means he had help.” His eyes grew drifted out of focus as he puzzled through the mystery. “Someone here in Camelot.” As the answer clicked into place, his lip tugged downward. Uther suspected Morgana--that much was clear. No other culprit would make him hesitate before spouting a public condemnation. But what would happen after his hesitation? Would Uther punish Morgana? Imprison her? Execute her even?
Despite the dragon’s warnings, Merlin hoped he wouldn’t. Morgana was misguided, perhaps, but she had a good heart, and she would be a good ally in convincing Arthur to repeal the ban on magic. Most importantly, she was a friend, not to mention a fellow magic-user. Merlin didn’t want any harm to come to her.
“I’m afraid it looks that way,” Arthur replied. The obvious culprit didn’t seem to have crossed his mind if the furrow between his brows was any indication.
Merlin held his breath, waiting for Uther to call for the guards to bring him Morgana or to voice his suspicions. Uther cared about Morgana, yes, but was it enough to protect her from the law? From Uther’s ego? From his wrath? It certainly hadn’t protected her when Gwen’s father was killed. Uther had locked her in the dungeons for just speaking the truth. How many times could he justify letting her go free?
The doors flew open with a bang. Every head turned toward the entrance as a knight strode into the throne room, face hidden beneath a helmet and wearing armor different from the Camelot standard.
Even as Merlin’s magic sizzled under his skin, ready to protect Arthur by any means necessary if it came down to it, Merlin had the strangest desire to laugh. The mystery knight routine was simply becoming a cliche at this point. Which will it be today, he wondered, a vengeful wraith, or a plotting sorceress?
He wasn’t surprised when the mystery knight stepped forward with confidence and dropped a gauntlet at Uther’s feet. The guards--idiots that they were--had failed to rise to attention fast enough to keep the knight away from their king.
Uther’s gaze fell on the gauntlet, and he held up a hand when Arthur reached forward to pick it up. Eyeing the mystery knight once more, Uther bent down and took the gauntlet in hand. “I accept your challenge,” he said once he had straightened to his full height.
“Father--” Arthur objected, but Uther held up his hand once more.
“Do me the courtesy of revealing your face, Sir Knight, so I may know who it is that challenges me.”
Merlin held his breath, along with the rest of the room, as the mystery knight reached up to remove their helmet. Something was strange about this. The timing, so shortly after the escape of the prisoner, was odd enough, but Merlin didn’t think Alvarr would have access to armor in order to challenge the king. He was a renegade, not a noble, and the funds alone would prevent him from acquiring armor--nor was this figure tall enough to be him. But could this truly be unrelated? Perhaps someone was someone challenging Uther on Alvarr’s behalf. But then who...?
It dawned on him only seconds before the knight’s dark braid tumbled free from her helmet.
Uther’s mouth fell open in an uncharacteristic show of surprise. “Morgana?”
“I challenge you, Uther Pendragon.” Morgana’s chin was held high, and she practically hissed his name. “Single combat--to the death.”
“Morgana,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Morgana kept her gaze fastened on Uther as she said, “Stay out of this, Arthur.”
The exchange gave Uther time to recover enough to speak. “Morgana, Arthur is right. This is foolish.”
Morgana only lifted a brow. “A woman can issue a challenge as well as any man. We made sure of that when Morgause came to Camelot.” The name made Uther flinch, and Morgana smiled at him. “Does it hurt to be reminded that your son also wanted you dead when he found out the truth?”
Arthur made a strangled noise in his throat, and Merlin was at his side immediately, just close enough for their arms to touch, lending him strength. Arthur didn’t look at him, but he subtly leaned into the contact. Merlin wondered how long it would take him to recoil--to realize that Merlin was the one who had lied to him that day, not Morgause. How many lies could build up before no friendship, not even one between two sides of the same coin, could survive?
“Morgana, I will not fight you,” Uther said, short of breath as though the battle had already begun.
Morgana’s features sharpened. “Have you no honor? The king of Camelot, a coward. How long will it be before armies line up outside our walls, ready to take what you have proven unworthy to hold?”
Uther’s eyes filled with ice. “You speak treason.”
“And you break the Knight’s code,” Morgana snapped.
“I don’t give a damn about the Knight’s code!” Uther said. “You’re like a daughter to me; I will not fight you.”
Morgana laughed, and it was a cruel sound. “Have you forgotten our conversation from earlier today?” She leaned closer, and Merlin was glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of her fury. “I disown you.”
Uther didn’t respond, lip quivering and eyes flickering between anger and sorrow. The latter made Merlin’s stomach twist. Although the king was a murderer and arguably mad, he was still a man, and Merlin grew anchorless each time he was reminded of that. It was easier to believe that such tyranny and slaughter were the work of a heartless monster, but if monsters could love and care the way others did, then what separated them from men? What made them deserving of death at the hands of the righteous?
“The challenge will take place tomorrow at noon,” Morgana said, taking Uther’s silence as surrender. “Don’t be late.” With a mocking bow that gave Merlin a run for his money, she said, “My lord,” and left the room.
Merlin watched her go, emotion tightening his throat. The last time Morgana had decided to kill the king, Merlin had chosen to stop her. When Arthur decided the same thing, Merlin had stepped in and talked him down. But this time? In front of what would likely be the entire kingdom? In a fair challenge rather than an assassination attempt or an impulsive attack? Merlin didn’t know what he could do--or even if he wanted to do anything at all.
Deciding who lived and who died was the hardest part of his destiny. Did he have a duty to intervene, or a duty to let the man who murdered his people face justice? And what was justice anyway? Would his death benefit Camelot, or would it just serve as senseless revenge? Merlin was inclined to believe the former, but Gaius was always telling him that protecting Uther was part of making Arthur into the great king he could be. The king’s death by magic would turn Arthur off of changing the law forever, he argued.
But Morgana wasn’t using magic. She was challenging Uther’s rule, something anyone had a right to do, according to the Code. Did that make it okay? Lawful wasn’t the same as right, but a niggling part of Merlin believed that Morgana’s challenge might be both.
Merlin followed Arthur out of the room, sparing one last glance at Uther who had crumpled onto his throne in Morgana’s wake. He wondered if the king was reflecting on what he had done to cause someone he raised and loved to turn against him with such finality. Did he feel any remorse for his actions or only this consequence?
Arthur kept a quick pace, and Merlin tried to catch up so he could see his expression. From the tense set of his shoulders, he was struggling to keep his true emotions in check, but Merlin couldn’t read which emotions they were.
“Sire--”
“Shut up, Merlin.”
Merlin huffed and continued after his prince. With all of the thoughts running through his head, it took Merlin longer than it should have to realize Arthur was heading to Morgana’s chambers rather than his own. He stormed in without knocking, and Merlin shut the door behind them.
“What the hell was that, Morgana?”
After making sure the door was locked, Merlin turned to see Gwen helping Morgana out of her armor.
“Don’t act like you don’t understand, Arthur.”
“My lady--” Gwen started, but Morgana didn’t seem to hear her.
“I know how much you hate to go against your precious father, but even you challenged him when you learned what a hypocrite he is.”
“Morgause was lying, Morgana,” Arthur said. “Merlin told me--”
“Arthur,” Merlin interrupted, causing his prince to twist toward him.
“What, Merlin?” The tightness in his face made him appear mere moments from either snapping or shattering, and Merlin hated that he would be the catalyst.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I did it for you.”
Arthur’s jaw twitched in anger, but his eyes were vulnerable, broken, scared. “She was telling the truth?”
“You wouldn’t have been able to live with yourself if you killed your own father. I had to do something, and you--”
“Was she,” Arthur enunciated, “telling the truth?”
Wretchedness dripping off of him, Merlin nodded. “Gaius confirmed it.”
Arthur looked away. Merlin’s chest ached at the sight.
“He killed my mother,” Arthur said, although it was more of a question than a statement, as if he was begging someone to correct him.
Merlin hesitated. Although Ygraine’s life was traded for Arthur’s, Merlin wasn’t certain that Morgause’s version of the events was accurate. After making a deal with Nimueh himself, he knew the sorceress wasn’t exactly a saint, especially when it came to deals regarding the magic of life and death. “I’m not sure he knew the cost would be your mother,” Merlin said eventually, “but yes, he knew someone would die in order for you to be born, and that person ended up being Ygraine.”
Arthur still wasn’t looking at him. “He started the Purge to assuage his own guilt.”
Unlike Merlin, Morgana managed to catch his eye. “Yes, Arthur. He did. The blood of innocents is on his hands, and I won’t stand by and watch it any longer.”
Gwen dropped a piece of Morgana’s armor on the floor, and they all turned to her in the clatter. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Her question was met with silence. “My lady?”
Morgana’s righteous countenance diminished for the first time. “I’ve challenged Uther to single combat. Tomorrow at noon, we fight to the death.”
Gwen’s hand shot up to her mouth. “My lady--”
“I know I should have told you what the armor was for when I asked you to fetch it, but I knew you wouldn’t approve.”
Gwen backed away from her. “You were right.”
Morgana’s lips warped into something pleading. “Gwen, I have to do this. Surely you understand? He killed your father.”
Gwen shook her head, chin wobbling. “But if Uther wins, I’ll lose you, too. I can’t lose anyone else, Morgana. I just can’t.”
Morgana gave her a smile. “I’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t win then, won’t I?”
Arthur threw his hands in the air. “Morgana, you’re not even a knight. How can you expect to win against the king?”
Morgana’s brow rose in challenge. “I beat you, didn’t I?”
“That was when we were children,” Arthur said, pointing accusingly. “This is not the same thing.”
Morgana’s smirk widened into a grin. “So you admit that I beat you?”
Arthur opened and closed his mouth a few times before scowling.
“Don’t worry about me,” Morgana said when it became clear she had won their childish argument. “Uther still sees me like a daughter. He won’t be fighting at his best.”
“And you will be?” Merlin asked quietly. “He practically raised you.” And you changed your mind the last time you tried to kill him. Who’s to say you won’t this time?
Morgana gave him a meaningful look. “You know better than anyone why I must do this.”
Merlin ignored the questioning looks he received from Arthur and Gwen and pressed his lips together. Even better than you realize. He wasn’t naïve enough to believe Uther’s death would mean freedom, but it would give magic users a little extra room to breathe, and there were days when that felt like enough. Perhaps without Uther’s influence, Arthur would be ready sooner, and the bloodbath could finally come to an end. Perhaps, despite the dragon’s foreboding prophecies, Merlin and Morgana’s paths could be aligned in this. After a few conflicted moments, he nodded. “I just don’t want you to hesitate at the wrong moment and get yourself killed.”
“You approve of this?” Arthur asked, incredulous. “You’re the one who stopped me from killing him!”
Merlin smiled shakily as he considered how to respond. Sorry, Arthur, I know he’s your father, but he’ll also burn me at the pyre if he finds out my eyes change color probably wasn’t the right answer. “I don’t...approve, necessarily,” he said. Because killing was still hard for him to stomach, even when it was a tyrant like Uther. “But I understand why Morgana is doing this. And I don’t think it will destroy her quite like it would destroy you.”
Arthur turned helplessly to Morgana. “I’m...not sure what to say. He’s my father. He’s our king. I...”
Morgana took his hands in hers. “And you will be a greater king than he ever was.”
“I’m not ready to be king,” Arthur said, and Merlin was impressed to hear his voice barely shook.
Morgana smiled. “Lucky you’ve got us then.”
Arthur glanced over to see Gwen smiling supportively, even as she fiddled with Morgana’s gauntlet in worry, and then he looked at Merlin who gave him a solemn nod. Arthur chewed at his cheek, something Merlin only ever saw him do in private. “There’s nothing I can say to persuade you not to do this?” he asked after a while.
Morgana gave a slight but firm shake of her head. “I wish I could tell you everything, but you’ll just have to trust that I have my own reasons for doing this if the ones we’ve discussed aren’t enough. I won’t be swayed.”
Arthur looked at her for a long time, as though he was trying to read her secrets in the pattern of her eyelashes. Clearing his throat, he forced his emotionless facade back into place. “Then I wish you luck tomorrow. May you fight with honor.” He reached out a hand.
Morgana’s eyes were bright as she lifted hers as well so they could clasp wrists.
Once Arthur released his hold on Morgana, he turned to leave. Merlin shot Morgana one last glance before following. He didn’t know what the look conveyed, but he wanted her to know he saw her, understood her, even if Arthur and Gwen couldn’t see the extent of the pain she carried. From the small smile she sent him in return, he thought she knew what he meant.
As he was leaving the room, he heard Morgana say, “Stay with me?”
To which Gwen responded, “Of course, my lady.”
Merlin was glad they had each other. He only hoped tomorrow wouldn’t change that.
Arthur was looking out the window when Merlin finished turning down his bed and setting out his sleep clothes.
“Arthur?”
The prince didn’t turn around. “Is my father a good king?”
Merlin didn’t know how to answer that, so he said nothing.
Apparently, Arthur wasn’t expecting a response. “I’ve always considered him to be just. An honorable man--a beacon of hope for the people. Even when I disagreed with him about his treatment of the Druids, I still believed he was right about other magic users. You’ve seen as well as I have the destruction sorcerers wreak on Camelot. But now...”
Arthur turned to face Merlin, somehow looking both regal and broken. Merlin wanted to go to him, comfort him, give him anything he needed, but he knew Arthur wouldn’t let him right now. Not when he was trying to stay strong. Not when he needed to believe he was worthy of being king if it came to that. “Morgana said my father has killed innocents, which seems to suggest she believes that magic users aren’t inherently evil. But surely, even if my father was responsible for my mother’s death and not magic, he can’t be wrong about everything? So many sorcerers have attacked Camelot. So many people have died as a result of sorcery.”
“You’re right,” Merlin said, deciding to tell the truth for once, the guilt still roiling in him at his lie about Ygraine. “Thousands have died as a result of sorcery. But more have died for having magic than being victims of it.”
A frown flickered at the edges of Arthur’s mouth. “You say that like people don’t get a choice.”
“Some don’t.”
Arthur shook his head, disbelief clear in the narrowing of his eyes. “That’s not possible. Father always taught me that people learn sorcery--that they turn to it, and it corrupts them.”
Merlin nodded. “It’s true that some people learn it. And it’s true that some sorcerers are corrupt. The same way kings can be corrupt,” Merlin added meaningfully.
Arthur looked away. “But others?”
“Others have magic without ever picking up a book or meeting a sorcerer who can teach them. They can learn to control it, but they can’t will it away.”
“But if that’s true--if people can be born with magic--then Morgana was right,” Arthur said hollowly. “We’ve killed innocent people. I’ve led raids where children were killed. Children, Merlin. For something they can’t control.”
“Yes,” Merlin said, not knowing what else to do.
Arthur sunk into a chair, and his head dropped into his hands. “Does my father know this?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Arthur squinted at him. “Why do you know this?”
Merlin shuffled on his feet. Usually, he was better at hiding his secret. But this wasn’t exactly a normal situation. Usually, Merlin lied to Arthur about everything magic-related. Usually, he was already so deep in character as the non-magical bumbling servant that even when Merlin confessed to sorcery, Arthur thought he was making it up. But after everything that happened tonight, Merlin needed to build his walls back up one by one before he could be anything close to convincing. His guilt from his lies mingled with his uncertainty about letting Uther die, both of which were knotted up in his unquenchable desire for freedom—a desire he rarely let himself embrace, even as he spent every day working toward his destiny. A desire which suddenly felt like a bird trapped in his throat, ready to escape, give him wings, or permit the chance to gasp for air after too long trapped underwater. “I, uh, read about it. In a book.”
Arthur peeked at him through his fingers. “Magic books were burned in the Purge.”
“Um, not all of them?” That, at least, wasn’t a lie. He just hoped Arthur wouldn’t ask to see the book in question or demand that Merlin tell him who gave him the book. He didn’t want to get Gaius wrapped up in this. The physician was no doubt already torn up about Uther’s fight tomorrow without getting called in for questioning.
Arthur studied him closely, his hand still casting his face in shadows. “You didn’t just read about this in a book,” he said slowly. “Your sorcerer friend, Will. He was...born with magic?”
Merlin swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat every time Arthur called Will a sorcerer. “Yes.”
After a few moments, Arthur nodded. “So my father is a killer.” His hands slowly fell away from his face to reveal puffy red eyes and a glint of tears. “And so am I.”
Merlin went to Arthur’s side then, sinking to his knees beside him. “Arthur, you can’t blame yourself for his mistakes. You trusted your king--your father. There’s no crime in that.”
Arthur shook his head. “The murder of innocents is always a crime, no matter who orders it. I won’t excuse my actions, nor will I allow this slaughter to continue, regardless of the outcome of tomorrow’s fight.”
Even as tears prickled in his eyes, Merlin felt a smile split his face. “And that is why you will be the greatest king Camelot has ever known.”
Arthur looked at him with bemusement, but he didn’t call Merlin a girl for crying and he didn’t protest. Instead, he looked at his hands, fiddling with his rings. “Even though my father is wrong--even though, after everything I’ve learned, he almost certainly deserves it—I don’t want…” Arthur trailed off, hand stilling. “Is it wrong that I don’t wish to see him dead?”
“Of course not, Arthur.” Merlin thought back to Edwin Muirden, as he had done time and time again since he sent that ax flying into his head to protect Gaius. Killings always haunted him, but that one was different. Merlin had liked Edwin, looked up to him even. He was careful and clever, and his anger toward Uther was justified. When it came down to it, however, Merlin couldn’t let him live, not when he was a threat to Gaius. Gaius, who thought it necessary to use magic to save Uther’s life but not Tom’s. Gaius, who sided with Uther over magic users time and time again. When Merlin thought back to Edwin’s death, he felt a deep remorse for doing the same, even if he couldn’t say for certain that he would choose any different were he given the chance to do it all over again. “No matter what he’s done,” Merlin said, “he’s still your father.”
“That’s why you lied to me about Morgause.”
“Yes.”
Arthur nodded, and Merlin hoped it meant he was forgiven. “I will lose someone I love tomorrow,” he said. His voice was even, but a tear gathered in the corner of his eye.
Although Merlin’s heart broke for Arthur, he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t offer reassurances that Morgana would win or that Uther would win when Arthur cared for them both. And if Merlin was honest, he didn’t have the slightest idea which of them would make it out of the fight alive. “For what it’s worth,” Merlin settled on finally, “I’ll be at your side to help you through it.”
Arthur offered him a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Thank you, Merlin.” His eyes flicked over his manservant as though he was seeing him for the first time. “You’re a good friend.”
They looked at each other for what felt like hours but was probably only seconds before the moment broke. Arthur cleared his throat, hastily wiped at his cheeks, and then stood. Merlin stood as well, nearly knocking over a pitcher on the table in the process.
Arthur seemed almost relieved at his clumsiness for breaking the tension. “Don’t be late tomorrow.”
Merlin flashed him a small grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sire.”
“It’s not too late to change your mind, my lady,” Gwen said as she helped Morgana into her armor. She hurriedly added, “Not that I doubt your conviction or your courage or anything. I don’t, of course. I’m sure you can defeat an experienced knight who also happens to be the king.” Gwen’s eyes widened. “That sounded sarcastic, didn’t it? I didn’t mean it that way, I swear. I just--”
“Gwen,” Morgana said, placing her hands on Gwen’s shoulders. “I won’t change my mind.” She spoke as calmly as she could manage, hoping it would ease her friend’s nerves. Even if Morgana was anxious about the fight, it wouldn’t do to worry Gwen to death.
Gwen bit her lip, but Morgana could sense her surrender from the way she leaned into Morgana’s touch. “Okay. Just...tell me you’re not doing this for me.”
Morgana’s brow furrowed. “Alright. I’m not.”
Gwen glanced down at her hands which had frozen in their task. “Last night, you mentioned my father...”
“It’s Uther’s fault he was killed.”
Gwen nodded nervously. “Yes. It is. But I don’t want you to kill for me. I don’t want to be the reason anyone is dead.”
And you might be the one who ends up dead, she didn’t say, but Morgana heard it anyway.
“I am doing this for you,” Morgana said, “and your father, and all of the other people whose lives have been destroyed in Uther’s vendetta against magic. Not to mention all of the people he will kill in the future if no one stops him.”
Gwen didn’t respond to that, and a tense silence filled the tent. She had begun helping with Morgana’s armor again, as if she needed something to do now that they weren’t talking anymore. When her fingers fumbled with the fastenings, Morgana captured her maidservant’s hands in hers. “Gwen.”
Gwen looked up, desperation in her eyes. “I don’t want you to be like him.”
“Like who?”
“Uther. If you kill him, then you’ll be a killer, too, and I don’t want that.” Gwen’s expression softened and she freed her hands from Morgana’s grasp only to squeeze Morgana’s upper arms. Even through her chain mail, Morgana could feel the warmth of Gwen’s hands. “Morgana, you’re a good person. One of the kindest and most just people I know. I don’t want to see you stoop to his level.”
Morgana didn’t know how to respond. A year ago, she might have agreed with Gwen. Morgana had never wanted to hurt anyone, and she didn’t want to hurt anyone now. She just wanted to stop being afraid--to stop others like her from being afraid ever again. But how could she explain that without giving herself away? Perhaps, now that either freedom or death was on the horizon, giving herself away wasn’t so unthinkable. Taking a deep breath, she whispered, “I have magic.”
Gwen leaned away from her, and Morgana’s heart thudded in her chest as she stared at rejection. “You have...”
“Magic, Gwen.” This time, her words were closer to a normal volume. “My nightmares, they weren’t just dreams. They were visions. But it didn’t stop with those. Do you remember when my curtains caught fire?”
A spark of recognition appeared in Gwen’s eyes. “Oh, Morgana.” The sympathy in her voice made Morgana’s chest ache. “I remember how scared you were, but I didn’t realize…You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.”
Morgana’s vision went blurry. “I wanted to tell you, Gwen, I swear, I just--”
“Shhh...” Gwen pulled her close, petting her hair the way she did when Morgana woke from a nightmare. “I can’t even imagine how terrifying it must be to discover something like that, especially living here as the king’s ward. No one could blame you for keeping it a secret.”
Morgana didn’t like that she couldn’t see Gwen’s face—not when she had just made her biggest secret known—but Gwen’s hands were gentle, and Gwen’s voice was soothing. If only she could convince herself to trust them. “I didn’t choose it,” she whispered.
Shame washed over Morgana the moment the words left her lips.
Uther was wrong. Magic wasn’t evil, and everything he taught her about it was a lie. She knew that—was confident enough in it to challenge the king to a fight to the death—and yet…
And yet she still felt the need to make excuses to Gwen. To make excuses for her power, her magic, herself.
“I believe you,” Gwen said, and that only pushed the dagger deeper. Not ‘it doesn’t matter’ but ‘I believe you.’ As though Gwen believed, just as Morgana did somewhere deep inside, that choosing it would have been wrong. As though Morgana was only blameless if she remained a victim.
But how could she ever be proud of her magic if it was only accepted as a curse? How could she stop feeling alone, insane, and suffocated when she believed she was at the mercy of her magic instead of the other way around? And if magic was so horrific that it had to be endured but was never chosen (not by ‘good’ people anyway), then why was Uther wrong for striving to eradicate it?
Morgana didn’t want her magic eradicated. She didn’t want to be a victim or a prisoner or a witch on the pyre. She wanted to claim her power, and embrace it, and feel at home in her own skin. She wanted to stop apologizing for it, but her throat closed up, keeping those desires trapped inside.
“I’m here for you, Morgana,” Gwen said. “Always. You know that, right?”
Morgana nodded against her shoulder, shoving her conflict and self-loathing and desires deep within. When she pulled away, Gwen dabbed her tears away with an embroidered cloth.
“Does Uther know?”
Morgana shook her head. “If he did, I’d have burned already.” Once, the thought would have transformed her into a frightened doe, but now, it just kindled the fire in her core. She was no longer afraid of losing Uther’s favor. She held up its loss as a badge of honor. It was her continued compliance and position at his side that bothered her.
Although Alvarr thought her too stupid to notice his patronizing, she had always been cleverer than people believed. She knew what he thought of her: naïve, simpering, too sweet for the world of politics or revolution. It wasn’t news to her that others perceived her that way. The king’s ward was not expected to be intelligent or powerful, just a pretty thing to show off at balls and feasts. At one point, that perception had been an annoyance, and at other times, an advantage, but by now it had outlived its usefulness. Uther locked her away when her words became too truthful for his ears while everyone else continued to view her as a feisty but harmless ward of the king. Unless she publicly distanced herself from Uther, she could never be anything else. Not to the court, not to the people of Camelot, and certainly not to other magic users--magic users who should have seen an ally in her and instead saw an accessory to their genocide, or at best, a bystander to Uther’s crimes. She could accept complicity no longer.
Gwen bit her lip. “I don’t think that’s true, my lady. He loves you too much for that.”
Morgana closed her eyes. She didn’t want to be reminded of Uther’s love for her. It was conditional and twisted, but worst of all, it was convincing. It would only make what she had to do that much harder. She opened her eyes again, needing Gwen to understand. “Even if that’s true, I won’t be the exception. If someone was attacking the people of Camelot, Arthur and the knights would be right to step in and make them stop, even if it meant killing them.”
Gwen nodded hesitantly. “Like when we killed Kanen and his men to save Ealdor.”
“Yes,” Morgana agreed, relieved that Gwen was following so far. “That’s all I’m doing today. Uther has been attacking the people of Camelot for decades, a crime that would warrant death for any other. But he gets away with it because of his position. As king, he defines who’s innocent and who’s guilty, who’s right and who’s wrong. But that doesn’t make him less of a threat to Camelot. In fact, his reign has proven that it only makes him more of a threat when his violence is sanctioned by his crown. Anyone who interferes or goes against him is committing treason, even when his crimes are far worse.
“If I win this fight today,” Morgana said, pausing to wonder if it was bad luck to say ‘if’ instead of ‘when,’ “then I will have protected my people from someone who wishes to do them harm. Surely you cannot fault me for that?”
Gwen pressed her lips together as she considered the question. “No,” she said eventually. “I’d say that makes you braver than any knight.”
Morgana’s ribs felt tight, and it wasn’t from Gwen tightening her armor too much. When her maidservant retrieved a piece of lavender fabric from a pocket in her dress, Morgana was still too verklempt to speak.
Gwen smiled, the fabric draping over her fingers like a swatch she wanted Morgana to judge. “Would my lady do me the honor of wearing my favor today?”
Morgana nodded, smiling as fresh tears caught her eyes. When she offered her arm, Gwen tied the favor just above her elbow. “Thank you, Gwen.”
Gwen paused for a moment before leaning forward and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. She refused to meet Morgana’s eyes as she pulled away.
Morgana’s cheek tingled, and before she could think better of it, she tilted Gwen’s chin up with one hand. “Gwen.”
Gwen flushed, eyes shifting to meet Morgana’s nervously. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, I--” She paused, and Morgana watched with amusement as her anxiety faded after taking in the look on Morgana’s face.
“Unless you’re going to apologize for missing my lips, I’d hold it,” Morgana teased, but she couldn’t hide how breathless the thought made her.
Gwen’s eyes widened and then flicked to Morgana’s mouth. She smiled gingerly. “I’m sure it would be better to fix my mistake than offer empty apologies, my lady.”
When Gwen kissed her this time, she didn’t miss the mark. Morgana’s hand came up to tangle in Gwen’s hair while her other wrapped around her waist, drawing her closer. She wanted to shed her armor, to press against Gwen and learn how their bodies fit together—
But there was the rather pressing matter of a fight to the death to attend to, and if all went well, there would be time for that later. She watched with adoration as Gwen’s eyes fluttered open, the most devastatingly beautiful smile on her face.
The sound of someone clearing their throat had the two of them jumping apart rather quickly.
“Er, sorry for interrupting...”
“Merlin!” Gwen shrieked. “That, um, wasn’t what it looked like.”
“Wasn’t it?” Morgana asked, causing Gwen to shoot her a pointed glare and Merlin to laugh.
“I just stopped in to see if you need anything,” he said. “Usually when there’s a fight to the death, I’m helping Arthur get ready, but today, I have nothing to do but follow him around. And you know how Arthur is…”
“Insufferable,” Morgana agreed.
Merlin grinned. “Anyway, it looks like you’re all taken care of at the moment, so I’ll just be going.” His grin became something softer. “Good luck, Morgana.” As he turned to go, he paused like he wanted to say something else. Glancing at Gwen, he seemed to change his mind.
The horns sounded as Merlin ducked out of the tent, announcing it was time for the fight, and Gwen pulled Morgana into a hug. “Be careful.” Her voice was thick with unshed tears.
Morgana hugged her back just as tightly. “It’ll be over before you know it. And then you’ll be helping me out of this armor instead of into it.” As they separated, Morgana added, “Maybe you can help me out of a few more things after that.”
Gwen gave her an unimpressed look, but her lips twitched upward instead of down, and that was enough for Morgana.
Grabbing her sword, Morgana spun it in her hand to get a feel for the weapon. The severity of the situation was finally setting in. She was going to fight the king in a battle to the death. She might not survive--or she might survive and be known for the rest of her life as a king killer. Either way, this fight would change everything. Taking a deep breath, Morgana stepped out of the tent.
The sun was too bright after the dimness inside, and it took Morgana’s eyes a while to adjust. In the meantime, she could hear the roar of the crowd, although she couldn’t make out what they were saying. How many of them were rooting for her? How many were rooting for Uther? It was strange to think that by fighting for her people she had become the enemy to most of Camelot. Were there any magic users brave or stupid enough to come here today? Were they hoping for her victory?
As the splotches in her vision became people, so small in the distance but so many, she realized this was her first time being in the arena instead of in the stands. Was Arthur watching anxiously the way she had watched him so many times before? Had Gwen joined Merlin in the crowd? Morgana hoped she had in case this went poorly. Merlin would take care of her.
The thought of Gwen’s tears if she died today was enough to turn Morgana away from the stands. She wanted to remember Gwen’s smile, not her fear, and a smile was not what she would see if Morgana spotted her now. Instead, Morgana looked at Uther. He was waving to the crowd as if this was a mere tournament instead of a fight to the death. Morgana’s blood boiled at the sight.
When Uther noticed her, he dropped his hand. There was pain behind his smile, and it faded altogether when she stepped up to face him.
“You don’t have to do this, Morgana,” he said. It was the voice he used when he was pretending to be her father instead of the king. She wouldn’t fall for it anymore.
Instead of answering, she turned to the crowd to smile and wave as he had done. The noise in the stands shifted, but she wasn’t sure if it was positive or negative. She supposed it didn’t matter in the end. Even if the people in the stands were fooled by Uther’s mask, she wasn’t. Her people weren’t. Gwen and Merlin and even Arthur weren’t. The memory of Arthur clasping her arm the way he did his knights gave her the confidence she needed. She was fighting for what was right, even if it was hard.
Arthur came out then to address the crowd, and Morgana didn’t have to listen to his words. She had heard them enough times, and she knew the rules of the game. Instead, she watched him: the man who had grown up beside her like a brother and who had matured so much in the last couple of years. His voice carried well, his hair shone golden in the sunlight, and his stance was strong but humble (Merlin’s influence, she was sure). Although he went along with Uther more often than Morgana would like, he had a good heart, and--with some needling--he was willing to change and admit when he was wrong.
He would be a good king, and Morgana thought she could fight for that: for a better future rather than for the death of a man who loved her in his own twisted way. For Arthur.
Fighting for Arthur was what she’d been doing all along, after all--whether that meant protecting him by sharing warnings from her visions, or swinging a sword with his battle cry in her ears, or convincing him to do the right thing when Uther’s moral compass and his own veered too close together. She had fought to keep him alive as well as to keep him honest and just. She could fight today to make him king.
With that in mind, Morgana faced Uther once more. Uther cast his helmet aside when he saw she wasn’t wearing hers. It would be more dangerous without, but Morgana knew her best chance to beat such a skilled swordsman was if Uther hesitated or went easy on her, and he would be more likely to do that if he could see her face.
“Morgana, please,” Uther said. He was closer to begging than she had ever seen him. “This is your last chance to end this.”
Morgana gave her sword a twirl. “Oh, I plan to end this, Uther,” she said evenly, contrary to her racing heart. “With my sword through your chest.” She swung at him with her blade.
It was a taunt more than an attack, but Uther had to block it, drawing him into the fight although he was still on the defensive. When she swung again, he parried. They went on like that for several minutes.
“Come on, Uther. You can do better than that.”
This time he caught her blade only inches from his neck. “I don’t want to hurt you, Morgana,” he hissed.
“Why not?” she asked, attacking again. “You’ve never had a problem with killing people before. Poor time to develop a conscience.”
“I don’t understand.” Uther dodged more and more of her blows as he spoke. “Why are you doing this?”
“You’re a tyrant, Uther. You rule by fear, and you kill innocents. Alvarr--”
“--is a sorcerer,” Uther interrupted, his sword darting out offensively for the first time.
Morgana met his blade with her own. “So am I.” She kicked him in the stomach, and he fell, more from her words than the force of the kick.
His eyes were wide. “Morgana--”
“The nightmares I’ve had all my life? They come true. They’re magic.”
Uther shook his head, not even trying to get off the ground. “That can’t be. I’ve burned all the books on sorcery. I’ve executed anyone who could teach you.”
“No one taught me, Uther. I didn’t choose this.” Morgana pressed the tip of her sword into his chest. “Magic chose me.”
There. There was the pride she wished she could summon in Gwen’s presence, as though it had been waiting for this moment to flare up inside her. She wasn’t a victim now. No, now she was a freedom fighter, a revolutionary, a sorceress. And she was going to make Uther pay for ever making her feel like a monster just for being herself.
Uther didn’t even seem to notice the sword at his chest. “Morgause, she must have--”
“So now you want to talk about her,” Morgana said, leaning closer. “All these years, and you failed to mention I have a sister.”
Uther’s breath was ragged, and it was unclear if it was from the fight or the conversation. “I thought she had died. If I had known--”
“Then you would have killed her, too,” Morgana said. “She has magic, after all. Must run in the family.” Drawing her sword back, she sneered at him. “Are you just going to lie there and let me kill you?”
Uther’s face was pained, but he slowly pulled himself off the ground. This time, when Morgana attacked, he blocked and then jabbed at her. It was still weaker than she’d seen him fight when he battled the wraith, but that was alright. She was counting on that.
“I have lived in fear,” she told him, punctuating her words with attacks, “...every... day. Like countless others. Knowing that if you found out about my magic, you’d have me burned at the stake.”
“Morgana--”
“Can’t kill me now, though, can you?” she mocked. “It’s easier to have your guards do your dirty work for you.”
“I don’t want to kill you.” Uther was still fighting, but few of his attacks came anywhere near her, as though proving his words. “I wouldn’t have executed you.”
“Perhaps not. Perhaps you would have made me the exception while you burned my kin.” Her sword came away red, having found a gap in his armor. It wasn’t a deep wound, but it seemed to weaken him disproportionately. Morgana wondered if it was because he didn’t think she would actually hurt him. Being proven wrong had always hurt Uther more than any physical wound ever could.
When she swung at him again, he stumbled backward and dropped his sword to the ground, raising his hands in the air.
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Morgana.” There was defeat in his eyes, and he panted from exertion.
Morgana’s sword hand faltered at the sight. It didn’t feel like a victory when he’d barely even tried. Even so, she forced herself to push the sword to his neck. “Will you lift the ban on magic?”
He winced, despite the fact that she hadn’t broken skin. “I can’t.”
“You won’t,” she corrected. “But Arthur will.”
Something like a smile crossed his face before vanishing. “Arthur will be a good king.” He swallowed, Adam’s apple toying with the tip of Morgana’s sword. “You two...look after each other. You’re family.” Morgana’s brows furrowed, but before she could turn the conversation away from sentimentality, Uther said, “You’re my daughter, Morgana.”
Morgana’s sword dropped a few inches. “No.”
Uther nodded, closing his eyes. “Arthur is your brother. Look after him when I’m gone.”
Morgana shook her head. “No. Gorlois is my father. You--”
“If you’re going to kill me, do it quickly,” he said.
Morgana lifted her sword to his throat once more. Instead of killing him, she spoke, her voice firm even as her world fell apart around her. “Abdicate the throne to Arthur.”
Uther opened his eyes. “I--”
“Abdicate the throne, and I’ll let you live.”
Uther looked at her for a long time. Fear nipped at her heart the longer he took to answer. She didn’t know what she would do if he said ‘no.’ The thought of killing him after he had all but surrendered--now that his throat was at the end of her sword--felt like a cruelty from which she could never recover.
“I won’t relinquish my claim to the throne,” he said finally. A fire lit in him even as he stood defeated and weaponless before her. “I’d rather die than watch everything I’ve worked for be destroyed.”
Morgana swallowed, the emotions coursing through her almost too much to fathom. She felt enraged that this man--her father --would rather die than see her free. She felt pain at the thought of losing the last parental figure she had, no matter how terrible he was. She felt fear at what would happen to her when his blood spilt at her hands, pulsing out until his heart gave its last beat. Would she be corrupted as Gwen suggested? Would she become the monster Uther claimed people like her were? Would Arthur ever forgive her? Would she ever forgive herself?
“Morgana,” a voice said in her head. She glanced around quickly before refocusing on Uther. He was the threat here, even disarmed as he was. Not the strange voice. “Alvarr and I are here.”
Morgana’s eyes widened. It was Mordred. He had spoken to her that way before, but she still wasn’t accustomed to the strange feel of it.
“We came to see you fight--to see you free us.”
Morgana nearly sobbed at the faith in his words. Surely she could do this for Mordred. For a child who watched his guardian die at Uther’s hand. For a boy who lived his entire life in fear. For all the children like him--the children like Morgana. She could give them this victory. She could give them their freedom. All she had to do was drive her blade forward one last time.
“There are others here, too.” This second voice was older. Familiar. Merlin? “I’ve never felt so many magic users gathered in Camelot.” He sounded awed, even sniffly--if such a thing was possible to hear in one’s head. “Morgana, I know what it’s like to kill someone, and it never feels good, no matter how much they deserve it. Whatever you decide to do...”
He didn’t have to finish. She knew what he was trying to say: that she had his support, no matter what. Just like he’d ensured when she told him about her magic. The fact that she could hear Merlin in her head suggested that he had magic, too.
For a moment, she considered feeling angry at him for not telling her the truth. But he had given her his support then, and he had sent her to the Druids to learn about her gifts. Camelot wasn’t safe for magic users, and she knew better than anyone how the fear Uther instilled in their kind bred silence and distrust. Merlin had done what he could while keeping himself safe. He had even risked his safety to warn the Druids about the encroaching attack. Morgana couldn’t fault him for any of that, even if she wished she hadn’t felt so alone for all this time.
Focusing on the present once more, she realized that Merlin having magic only made his message stronger. She had the chance to set him free--to kill the man who slaughtered their kind and end his reign of terror. But Merlin cared about Morgana the friend more than Morgana the savior. He wanted her to make the right choice on her own terms. He wanted her to be able to live with herself.
“Do it,” Uther hissed, looking smug even in his defeat--proud that he couldn’t be broken. As if admitting he was wrong was worse than suicide by his daughter’s hand. That, more than anything, proved just how far gone he was. There was no redemption for him, no reasoning with him or changing his mind. Not when he couldn’t admit his own guilt. Not when he couldn’t even bear to stand aside and let his son lead if there was a chance the slaughter might end.
Morgana plunged the sword into his chest. She wasn’t sure if the crowd went silent or if her hearing faded out, but she processed no sound as she watched that arrogant flame die out in Uther’s eyes. His body went limp around her sword, dragging the tip down until he slid off the blade, collapsing in a lifeless heap on the dirt.
As the noises around her grew to a low buzz, Morgana looked into the crowd, not watching for their reaction, but looking for the familiar faces hiding there. She found Gwen’s first. She was covering her face with both hands, but she didn’t look horrified or disgusted, just shocked, and perhaps a bit relieved.
Merlin was next. He carried the weight of death in his eyes as he nodded to her, and Morgana wondered at his comment about having experience with killing. Despite the heaviness of his gaze, his posture seemed lighter, his face less darkened by shadows. Morgana felt a surge of gratitude for the way Merlin seemed to match her feelings so precisely. She didn’t feel good, or victorious, or even free--not yet. But she felt a little less trapped, a little less afraid, a little less suffocated. Even if she also felt a bit like a monster. She couldn’t shake the sensation of Uther’s blood staining her hands even though she knew it couldn’t possibly have seeped through the leather gloves. Biting her cheek, she turned to search for that last person whose reaction she sought.
Arthur was calmly staring out at the crowd, looking every bit the king she knew he could be. When his eyes caught hers, she saw his true emotions underneath. Shock. Grief. Anxiety. The vulnerability he only let through when someone brought up his late mother. And hidden somewhere within all of those, a message for Morgana: forgiveness. She nodded toward him, hoping to convey everything she was feeling as well. Hoping he understood.
You’re my brother, she wanted to tell him. But she was fairly certain that wasn’t the kind of thing one could say with their eyes.
You’re going to be a great king, she thought instead.
From the way his spine straightened, she thought he understood.
When Morgana’s sword pierced Uther’s chest, the crowd took a collective gasp and forgot to exhale for several minutes. In the quiet, they all heard the revolting slide of Uther’s corpse slipping off the metal and onto the hot, hard earth. Merlin knew he should go to Arthur, should show him support the only way he could in public: by standing beside him, or perhaps a few paces back since all eyes would soon be on the heir to the throne. Nondescript, but present. Merlin should take up that role now, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of Morgana.
He recognized the storm clouds on her face. When she finally looked up, first toward Gwen, and then toward Merlin, he saw the pain in her eyes, the desperate need for absolution. For the first time since the dragon issued his warning about ‘the witch,’ he wasn’t worried about Morgana bringing about Arthur’s doom. She held grudges and she refused to back down when she knew she was right, but she wasn’t ruthless. She wasn’t evil. She believed in justice, something Merlin had a habit of neglecting because his sights were too focused on Arthur and their destiny together. Her strong will was exactly what Camelot needed, what Merlin needed, what Arthur needed, and Merlin knew that if she turned her back on them, it would be because they deserved it. Merlin vowed to do everything in his power to keep that from happening--to make Camelot a place worthy of her. Of all the magic users who had been scorned by Uther.
Unable to make that promise with just a look but needing to reassure Morgana, Merlin nodded. The relief in her eyes was palpable, and he wondered when she granted him so much power over her self-worth. Then he remembered the fearful woman who came to him with tears brimming in her eyes, afraid of the magic that sizzled in her veins, needing to be told she wasn’t a monster, and he realized she had granted him that role a long time ago. Today, when he used Mindspeak and revealed his own magic, he sealed their connection--their bond of kinship, but more importantly, their bond as friends.
When Morgana looked to Arthur, Merlin followed her gaze with his feet, pushing past onlookers who were stunned silent or whispering so quietly the whole crowd became an eerie hiss.
Arthur’s eyes were red-rimmed and puffy when Merlin grew close, but his stance was as strong and commanding as ever, and his gaze didn’t falter as he took in his people. He didn’t make an announcement, and Merlin wasn’t sure if that broke protocol or not. Was he supposed to celebrate the victor the way Camelot did during tournaments? Was he supposed to mourn the late king? Was he supposed to announce his own coronation? Merlin didn’t know, but he could tell that Arthur was too wracked with grief to do anything but hold himself with dignity.
When Merlin reached Arthur, he snuck behind him, wanting to be there for his friend—his king —but also to stay out of the way of the watching eyes. This was Arthur’s moment, and the success of his reign depended on how his people perceived him in times of great change. Relying too heavily on his manservant certainly wouldn’t suggest Arthur had the strength to rule a kingdom. Even so, Merlin wanted to reach for him, to pull him into a hug or squeeze his shoulder or cup his cheeks between his hands and brush the tears from his face with his thumbs as they fell. But Arthur would never let Merlin hug him, especially not in public, and he certainly wouldn’t cry in front of a crowd.
So Merlin stood behind him, waiting as his subjects filtered out of the stands and Uther’s body was taken from the arena and Morgana disappeared into her tent with Gwen and two cloaked figures--one short and one tall--trailing behind her. Mordred and Alvarr left the tent a few minutes later, and then Gwen and Morgana emerged, and it was hard to tell who was supporting who. They spared a look in Arthur and Merlin’s direction, but they seemed to sense that Arthur wasn’t ready to come in yet and trekked back toward the castle.
Merlin wasn’t sure how long they stood there before Arthur’s shoulders began to shake. There was no one around, so Merlin stepped forward. To his surprise, Arthur crumpled into his arms the moment he reached out. Merlin hugged his king through his chest-heaving sobs. There was no sound, but the violent shuddering would have knocked Merlin over if he hadn’t sent a tendril of magic through his feet to ground him. Merlin’s fingers tangled in the hair at the base of Arthur’s neck, holding his face to Merlin’s shoulder while his other hand traced circles on Arthur’s back.
When Arthur finally straightened, minutes or hours later, his eyes were bloodshot but dry. “My ceremonial cloak will need to be washed for the coronation.”
Merlin sought out Arthur’s eyes, concern filling his chest when they looked determinedly past him. “Of course, Arthur.”
Arthur nodded once, his stoic expression faltering for no more than a second, and left the stands.
Merlin collapsed on the spot, dropping his head into his hands. This was why he’d never wanted Uther dead, no matter how many wrongs he’d committed. When it came to Arthur, Merlin was weak. He would do anything to keep him from feeling pain--from feeling grief. Magic users everywhere were lucky that Morgana could see the bigger picture when their prophesied Emrys couldn’t.
Merlin stared out at the arena until the sun set, not seeing the blood on the ground or hearing Uther’s body fall but feeling Arthur’s shudders wrack his own chest like lightning striking his heart.
Gaius eventually came to get him, his own face puffy with sorrow, and Merlin followed the physician back to their chambers. Neither of them spoke. The rest of Camelot was silent, too.
It didn’t stay that way, for better or for worse. Arthur’s coronation occurred three days after Uther’s death, and the chant “Long live the king!” echoed in Merlin’s ears, bringing a smile to his face that he couldn’t shake except in Arthur’s somber presence. The echo wasn’t just in Merlin’s head--for days after the ceremony, servants said, “Long live the king” when they passed each other in the halls, almost giddy with happiness. The people in the lower town cheered the phrase so loudly that the sound could be heard in the castle as they celebrated. It seemed the people had made their choice: Arthur’s unexpectedly early start to kingship was a victory.
The nobility wasn’t so easily convinced. Each meeting of the council consisted of thinly veiled accusations and suggestions of Arthur’s inadequacy. The latter were often dismissed by Arthur’s record alone, and when that wasn’t enough, Sir Leon and Gaius were happy to chime in. The former, however, wriggled into the minds of the council and then later the lords and ladies until soon even some of the common people whispered conspiracy theories. Apparently, many of the nobles thought Arthur had put Morgana up to the task of killing his father so he could steal the crown. Merlin wanted to rip their tongues out, hating the way Arthur’s eyes shone with hurt each time someone brought it up. If they had any hearts at all, they would see how deeply Arthur grieved. They would know their suspicions were unfounded.
Even more widespread than that theory were the rumors about Morgana. People called her king-killer, devil-woman, and even witch, despite the fact that she killed Uther without the aid of magic and her magic had yet to be revealed. Some of the people who watched the fight claimed that, in retrospect, they vaguely remember Morgana’s eyes turning gold. Merlin knew it was rubbish--he’d rescued Arthur’s sorry arse in enough tournaments to know when someone was using magic to win a fight--but it seemed people wouldn’t listen to reason. The nobility especially began to question her presence.
“She was Uther’s ward, wasn’t she? Why is she still here?”
“What happens when she decides King Arthur isn’t fit to be king either? The whims of a madwoman cannot have so much sway over the rule of this kingdom.”
“She’s proven herself to be a threat to the crown. Perhaps execution isn’t lawful, but surely banishment could be considered?”
Arthur shut down every comment related to his sister--because she was his sister, apparently, as Merlin and Arthur had learned when Morgana visited Arthur’s chambers a few nights before--but the talk didn’t stop. He hadn’t established himself as a force to be reckoned with, not the way Uther had, and the council seemed to almost be toying with him, as if nagging him into proving himself.
Morgana stayed out of the public eye as much as possible. Gwen carried meals and bath water to her room at the appropriate intervals, and she visited Arthur that once, but she didn’t leave her chambers if she could help it. After a few days of this, with only brief updates from a concerned Gwen to temper his worries, Merlin decided to check on her.
He knocked at the door, entering once she granted permission. “I wanted to see how you’re doing,” he said softly, standing awkwardly a few paces from the doorway. Morgana had always intimidated him, and then for a while, she had doused him in moral conflict. He wasn’t sure where they stood now, with Merlin’s magic revealed but as of yet undiscussed. It was best to keep his distance until he discovered whether or not she was angry at him for his secrets.
“I’ve heard what they’re saying about me,” Morgana said, staring out the window the way Arthur tended to do when he was upset. “That I’ve been corrupted by the devil. That I committed regicide to gain power in the new court.” She released a bitter laugh. “That I’ve seduced Arthur so that he’s wrapped around my finger.”
Merlin hovered for a few seconds before walking closer. “We both know none of that’s true.”
Morgana turned to face him. There were only a few steps between them now, so he could see her condition clearly. She was pale, the way she was after the worst bouts of nightmares, with dark circles ringing swollen lids. Her eyes weren’t pained but determined, and their ferocity took Merlin’s breath away. “I won’t be the reason Arthur’s rule is contested.”
“What do you plan to do?”
“I’ll leave Camelot until things are more settled. Train with the Druids or the Priestesses. Learn to control my powers while Arthur learns to be king. And then one day, when magic is free again, I’ll come back.”
“You’ll come home,” Merlin corrected.
Morgana’s eyes took on a softer hue. “I’ve never considered Camelot my home before.”
“I haven’t either,” Merlin admitted. “Not really. It’s hard to call a place home when its laws call for your death. But all of that is going to change. Arthur will lift the ban, and then everyone like us will have a home here.”
“So it’s true?” she asked, looking hopeful. “You have magic?”
Merlin smiled, cupping his hands together. When he opened them, a blue butterfly fluttered from his fingertips.
Morgana gasped, looking almost childlike in her appreciation. “Come with me,” she said, reaching for his hands when the butterfly darted out of the window.
“What?”
“It must be so stifling living here, being unable to use your powers.” Morgana’s voice was bright but hollow, like she was forcing cheer and hope into her tired frame--making the best of her self-imposed exile. “We could go to the Druids together. Learn from them. Be free.”
Merlin smiled sadly, brushing aside the raw desire he felt to do just that. He’d always dreamt of doing that one day. But Arthur needed him now--more than ever--and Merlin wouldn’t truly feel free until his destiny had been achieved. “You have no idea how much I want to join you, Morgana. But I have to stay here. Arthur is going to be a great king one day, but he needs help. He needs someone to advise him about magic.” Merlin cheekily added, “And to keep his ego in check.”
Morgana cracked a smile.
“But I’ll take you to the Druids,” Merlin continued. “Gwen, too, if she’d like.”
“And Mordred.”
It took everything in Merlin to push aside the wariness he felt at that name. But if he was going to trust Morgana to break the chains of fate, then he could give Mordred that same chance. “Is he not with them now?”
Morgana shook her head. “Alvarr needed to leave, but Mordred wanted to live here with me now that Uther is gone. He’s staying with Gwen at the moment. She offered to take care of him until I can convince Arthur to give him a room in the castle.”
Merlin decided that if anyone had a chance of keeping Mordred from becoming evil, it was Gwen. Merlin smiled. “I’m sure Iseldir would be glad to have you all.”
For some reason, his words made Morgana tense. She kept her eyes on the floor. “Even if we haven’t always been...peaceful?”
Merlin felt his own guilty conscience rise up in response. He knew how it felt to question his own goodness--to wonder if he had passed the point of no return. “Morgana, you’ve done nothing wrong. You have a good heart, and your actions, as violent as they may feel to you, have done more to bring peace than any other since Uther started the Purge. The Druids may not praise you for killing, but they will understand.”
Morgana swallowed. “Thank you, Merlin.” She blinked a few times as if to stop them from prickling. “I should tell Arthur.”
“I’ll tell him,” Merlin said, feeling a determination of his own set in. “You should find Gwen and ask her to go with you. She’ll need time to pack.”
Morgana noticed the shift in his demeanor. “You’re going to tell him about your magic, aren’t you?”
Merlin took a shaky breath and nodded. “It’s time, I think. If I want to help him in any real way, he needs to know the truth.” Trying not to break down at the thought, he added, “And if he doesn’t accept me...”
“He will, Merlin.”
“Well, if he doesn’t, I might join you--if the offer still stands?”
Morgana squeezed his shoulder. “Of course, Merlin.” She smiled a watery smile. “You can tell him about me if it comes up.”
“Morgana, I don’t want--” to rush you, to make your brother hate you, to use you as a buffer for my own reveal.
“I can’t tell him,” she said, stopping him before he could decide how to end his sentence. Her eyes were laced with fear. “I told Uther, and then I--then he--” Her voice broke, and she took a moment to steady herself. “I want Arthur to know, but I can’t tell him.”
Merlin looked at her, checking that she meant what she said, and nodded, pulling her into a hug. “Okay. I’ll tell him.”
Morgana nodded in gratitude, chin bobbing against his neck. When Morgana stopped trembling, Merlin took a deep breath and stepped away.
“Wish me luck.”
Arthur had been quiet since his father’s death. Every moment he was out of public scrutiny he spent lost in thought, but whatever those thoughts were, he hadn’t voiced them to Merlin yet. Perhaps Arthur was simply mourning. There seemed, however, to be a determined edge to his brooding, like he was planning something or maybe just deciding how he wanted to rule. Merlin made sure to linger each evening in case Arthur wanted to talk, but each time, Arthur just thanked him tiredly and told him to get some sleep. It was frustrating, but after their conversation about magic the night before Uther’s death, Merlin had faith that whatever Arthur was planning, it would be right for Camelot. He just hoped the council would be willing to hear their king out. Merlin had never been a fan of quests and tournaments, but he was getting close to suggesting Arthur schedule one, just to get the nobility to shut up about his ability to rule. Hopefully Morgana’s decision to leave would cool tensions enough for Arthur to make real change--or at least enough for him to get through a council meeting without acquiring a stress rash.
Merlin was expecting more silence when he entered Arthur’s chambers that evening, so he was surprised when Arthur spoke the moment the door closed.
“How much do you know about sorcery?”
Merlin blinked at him for several seconds. “Pardon?”
“Well, I’ve gathered that you learned some of the basics--more than I was taught, at least--from your friend Will, and you seem to have picked up some knowledge from Gaius.”
Merlin continued to stare at his king. He had been prepared to have to force Arthur to step away from his brooding window and listen. He had been prepared to ease into a conversation neither of them wanted to have, Merlin because he’d been fearing this day for over a year and Arthur because he wasn’t speaking to anyone unless he had to lately.
Merlin hadn’t been prepared for Arthur to already be thinking on the topic-- to start the conversation himself. And Merlin was never prepared for Arthur to mention Will. It still hurt too much to hear his best friend’s name from the lips of the man he died saving--the man who spoke ill of him at his own funeral, despite that sacrifice.
Arthur rolled his eyes. “I see your idiotic streak is strong today. The other night must have been a fluke. Forget I said anything, I’ll just ask Gaius.”
“Will wasn’t a sorcerer,” Merlin stammered finally.
Arthur gave him a patronizing look. “I know you want to protect your friend, but he confessed himself. Not to mention, I saw the magic with my own eyes.”
Merlin mustered up his courage, fighting the tears that threatened to well up in his eyes. “But you didn’t see him cast the spell.”
Arthur’s expression shifted into confusion and then dawning realization. “You did.”
Merlin nodded, turning his head to the ground in a mockery of a bow. It was a cower more than anything deferential, but Merlin had never done deference very well. He thought the position was justified.
There was silence for a long time. Then: “You were born with it?”
“Yes, sire.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Merlin flinched.
Arthur cursed. “Shit, Merlin, I didn’t mean it like--I just meant--”
Merlin glanced up cautiously, confused by Arthur’s strange outburst.
“You never call me ‘sire’ like that,” Arthur said when he stopped uncharacteristically wringing his tongue out.
“Like what?” Merlin asked.
“Like you’re worried I might punish you if you address me improperly.”
Merlin huffed. “You’re the king. You’re allowed to punish any disrespect.”
“Yes,” Arthur said slowly, as though Merlin really was the idiot he sometimes pretended to be. “But I could do that as the prince, and it never stopped you from calling me any number of horrible names.”
“Arthur?” Merlin wondered if the king had somehow forgotten the very serious thing he had just confessed.
“After everything I’ve learned the past few days--after everything that’s happened--” His voice broke at the vague reference to his father. “--I’m prepared to hear you out.”
Merlin inhaled sharply in hopeful surprise.
“But,” Arthur continued, giving Merlin an intense look, “it will be hard enough to hear how many lies you’ve told and how many secrets you’ve kept without you acting like we’re nothing more than master and servant.” Arthur’s eyes flicked away, and his throat bobbed. “Unless...unless our friendship was a lie too?” His voice was raw, like the words had to fight through broken glass to escape his throat.
Merlin’s eyes went wide, tears finally spilling over. “Of course we’re friends, you great prat.” Without letting himself think better of it, he marched over and pulled Arthur into a hug.
“Merlin, what--”
“Shut up.”
“That’s my--”
“Shut up,” Merlin repeated, squeezing tightly to keep the wriggling royal from breaking away.
Arthur harrumphed rather loudly, but he reluctantly relaxed into the hug.
“You’re an utter plonker, you know that?” Merlin said. Even as he insulted his king, his heart thrummed happily in his chest. Arthur knew his secret, and instead of threatening execution or hating him, Arthur’s first concern was seeking validation about their friendship--the friendship he usually wouldn’t admit to without a knife at his throat.
Arthur finally freed himself from Merlin’s embrace with a scowl. “And you’re a liar. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”
“Hoped, maybe,” Merlin said.
Arthur cuffed him on the back of the head. “Well, we can’t all be as daft as you. Now sit down and tell me everything.”
Merlin sighed loudly as Arthur manhandled him into a seat, but he couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face. Arthur didn’t hate him. He was willing to listen. He still wanted to be friends.
So Merlin told him everything, starting with the magical happenings that followed around a big-eared infant in Ealdor and going through his adventures in Camelot. Arthur listened intently, sometimes laughing and sometimes giving Merlin these serious, admiring looks that made Merlin feel like the only person on earth.
“I’m taking Morgana to the Druids,” he said when Arthur started to dismiss him for the night.
“What?”
Merlin rubbed the back of his head, realizing he probably should have mentioned that before nattering on about his life story for several hours. It was already well past midnight. “Morgana and I talked earlier. She doesn’t want to be the reason the council doesn’t respect you.”
Arthur looked ready to fight someone. “I won’t let them drive my sister out of Camelot.”
Merlin smiled at his passion. “Morgana knows you’d never ask her to go. That’s why she made the decision herself. And it won’t be all bad--she’s asking Gwen to go with her, and Mordred, too.” Merlin paused, trying to decide how best to reveal Morgana’s secret. “And she’s excited to learn from the Druids.”
Arthur frowned. “Are we talking about the same Morgana? She takes more baths than I do, and her wardrobe is the most expensive thing in the palace. What could she possibly want to learn from a bunch of vagabonds in rags?”
Merlin wanted to lecture Arthur on his disrespectful views about common people, but he knew it wasn’t the time. “Magic,” he said instead. “She wants to learn how to control her magic.”
Arthur looked lost and young. “She...Morgana has magic too?”
Merlin nodded. “She’s a Seer. That’s why she gets nightmares, and it’s why they come true. But now the rest of her magic is developing, and she needs help learning how to control it. The Druids can teach her.”
Arthur continued to look lost for several seconds, but then he nodded firmly, like he was deciding something. “I’ll go with you to take them to the Druids.”
“Are you sure that’s wise? The council won’t take kindly to their new king disappearing so soon after his coronation.”
Arthur scoffed. “You make it sound like the Druids are going to kidnap me. We’ll be gone a day at most. Think of it as a hunting trip.” Arthur winced, probably realizing how bad that sounded given his history with the Druids. “Er, a leisurely ride through the woods. A picnic.”
“Or an escort of the Lady Morgana back to her family home in Tintagel,” Merlin suggested.
Arthur’s eyes lit with approval. “You’re right. That will go over very well with the council, and then we won’t have to explain why Morgana is living with the Druids.”
“Are you feeling okay, sire?” Merlin asked, feeling Arthur’s head with the back of his hand.
“What? Of course I am. Why do you ask?”
Merlin shot him an impish grin. “You just said I was right.”
Arthur shoved him. Merlin tripped over a boot on the floor. It seemed, despite Merlin’s secrets being revealed, that very little had changed. Merlin had never been more grateful for anything in his life.
Iseldir was relieved to see Mordred returned to his camp, and he welcomed Morgana and Gwen with open arms, offering them robes and a vacant tent. Morgana remembered her last trip to the Druids, and she was struck by how different this was. She no longer felt like she was fleeing, and she wasn’t so alone anymore. When Iseldir invited Merlin and Arthur to share a meal and stay for the night, Arthur agreed with only a brief hesitation, and Merlin beamed. Morgana couldn’t help but share his joy.
As they settled in around the fire, a hint of hope niggled at her heart. Freedom, the thing she had been fighting for all along, had felt far away in the aftermath of Uther’s death--with magic still outlawed, with nobles and commoners alike watching her with distrust and suspicion, with nightmares of Uther’s death plaguing her more than her premonitions ever did. But here, with Arthur accepting her, Merlin supporting her, and Gwen caring for her enough to leave her home behind, Morgana thought perhaps freedom wasn’t just about laws and politics, but about loving and being loved in return. Wholly and unconditionally.
She may have lost a father in her fight for freedom, but she had gained another kind of family--a better one--and something she had never had before. The magic ban hadn’t been lifted, and Arthur was still learning to be king, but as Morgana and Gwen leaned against each other, watching Druid children play with magic sparks, for the first time in her life, Morgana knew peace.