Fic: "All This Beauty" (Part 2) | Arthur/Gwen | R | BBC's Merlin

[sarea]

Read part 1

~*~

Merlin found Arthur in a very bad mood. His clothes didn't even look put on properly. He was apparently literally unable to dress himself without Merlin's assistance. Shocking that he would one day be responsible for an entire kingdom. Merlin had never been more aware of the immense burden placed upon his own shoulders, tasked as he was with looking after Arthur for the rest of their lives.

He was almost hesitant to ask Arthur about the ring he'd noticed Uther wearing, but his suspicions that something dark and magical was afoot took precedence over the temper tantrum Arthur had taken to his chambers to indulge in. Merlin steeled his spine and loudly cleared his throat.

Arthur glanced toward him with an annoyed grimace. "If you're getting sick, stay away from me."

"I'm not getting -- never mind." I will take the high road. "Have you noticed anything strange about your father?"

Now, Arthur looked downright murderous. "You mean other than his sudden and inexplicable proclamation that every unmarried woman immediately take a husband or find herself burned at the stake?"

"Yes," Merlin agreed."Other than that."

"No. No, other than that he seems perfectly normal." Arthur looked disgusted with him.

"It's just that..."

"What?"

"Well, have you noticed the ring he's been wearing?" Merlin asked suddenly. At Arthur's confused look, he continued, "It's rather... delicate. Not his usual style. Has a dragonfly on it."

The confusion lifted from Arthur's face. "That sounds like... it was my mother's. One of her favorites. He showed me and Morgana her collection once, explained why they were..." Arthur trailed off, looking pained. Talk of Morgana did that to him these days. Add memories he didn't have of his mother to the pot and Merlin realized the prince's temper tantrum was about to evolve into a day-long brood. This business with Gwen could push it into a week.

"Well. Good he's remembering the past fondly then. Right. I've got things to do."

"Such as?" Arthur asked suspiciously.

"Muck out your stables," Merlin said, naming his least favorite task. Arthur would let it go easily if he thought Merlin was going to be suffering as much as he was.

"Hmm," Arthur said, as if he didn't believe him, but then he sighed and stared out the window. "A piece of advice, Merlin -- don't fall in love, if you can avoid it."

Merlin frowned. "Is it really that awful?"

Arthur smiled, but it was a sad expression. "No. It's the greatest feeling in the world." The smile turned wry. "That's the trouble though, isn't it? When you feel the greatest you've ever felt, there's nowhere left to go but down."

Merlin left Arthur feeling more troubled than he ought to. Arthur was usually such a spoilt prat that Merlin found the moments when the prince showed how truly wise, vulnerable, and... well, great he could be, to be somewhat unsettling. It reminded him that Arthur would grow out of all this, and perhaps not need Merlin quite so much at all.

Gaius was preparing a tincture of something that smelled terrible all the way from the front door.

"You're back early," he noted as Merlin walked inside.

"The king has been enchanted," Merlin said without preamble.

"Again?" Gaius said irritably.

~*~

Gaius worried about Merlin more than he let on. The boy took the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Gaius worried sometimes that they would crumble under its strain. He'd been so naïve, so foolish when Gaius had first met him, that he'd feared the worst. No one so careless, so effortless with his magic, would be able to survive long in Uther's kingdom without some skills of cunning and prevarication, yet Merlin had managed to remain largely undetected and retained his good heart at the same time.

The lies he told were simple yet effective, and Gaius admired the way he avoided them whenever possible. The habit of lying to everyone could easily turn an otherwise good person to a life filled with deceit, but Merlin took great pains never to obfuscate things that were not critical to life and death. Though there was plenty to fault about him, his sense of honor was not one.

"I think I've got it," Merlin announced, sounding excited. They'd spent hours poring over spellbooks, and Gaius felt a pang of pride -- Merlin rarely needed him at all anymore, not for practical things like research.

"What have you found?" Gaius asked.

"It's a forlor hagorun enchantment." His eyes were still scanning the page, verifying his contention that this was, indeed, the magical spell Uther had been placed under. "We need calamus root--"

"Grows abundantly in the south," Gaius said helpfully.

"As well as mallow flowers--"

"I have a supply of that right here."

"And," Merlin continued, "damania."

"Somewhat more challenging," Gaius conceded, "but I believe I know a way."

"A sword forged by a hand pure of heart, for a true purpose--"

"Gwen should be more than capable of forging something," Gaius said, beginning to feel hopeful. Perhaps this madness could be put to rest before too much damage had been done.

"The forging requires a champion to pierce the heart of a Rruhe, adding its blood to the mixture," Merlin said, sounding discouraged.

"That's not so bad," Gaius said positively. "The Rruhe are incredibly swift and strong, but we have great warriors who can help us--"

"It's not that," Merlin said, and even knowing him as well as he did, Gaius could not quite place the look on his ward's face. Sadness? Defeat? Anger? Heartbreak?

"What?" Gaius asked. "What is it?"

"It also requires the blood of the enchanter," Merlin whispered, his tortured eyes finally rising to meet Gaius's stare. They spoke one word at the same time, their voices infused with betrayal, and in Merlin's case, some degree of what sounded oddly like longing.

"Morgana."

Merlin cleared his throat. "We'll have to..."

Gaius placed a comforting hand on Merlin's shoulder. "I know this is hard for you..."

"She's brought it on herself, hasn't she?" Merlin forced a hardness into his voice he clearly wished was genuine. "Really, it won't even be the most difficult part."

Gaius lifted his eyebrow in question.

Merlin grimaced. "I've got to convince Arthur of all this somehow and enlist his help without mentioning magic."

~*~

Merlin often wondered what it might be like if Uther were not the King of Camelot, if it were Arthur instead. Some days it felt as though that time could not come soon enough; other days, it seemed that Arthur still had a lot to learn about simple human interaction before he'd make a truly great king. Now, for instance.

"I told you last time this tunic didn't fit right!" The offending tunic was flung none too gently toward Merlin, who failed to catch it, which caused it to drape over his head, momentarily blocking his view of an infuriated Arthur.

"I had a seamstress fix it," Merlin said mildly, pulling the tunic off his head.

But of course, this explanation did not stop Arthur's raging. "It needs washing," the other snapped, sounding every bit the spoiled prince most people assumed he was. They both knew Arthur's current bad mood was caused by something other than an ill-fitting tunic. As unfair as it was, Merlin knew Arthur partially blamed him for the fact that Gwen was now not-really-married to Lancelot. After all, it'd been Merlin's idea. Never mind that it had saved Gwen's life and bought them time. Uther had made his unreasonable decree this morning, and there was already alarm and consternation spreading in the village.

Arthur wanted to take his misery out on someone, and Merlin was sympathetic enough of Arthur and Gwen's plight that he was okay with being Arthur's flogging boy ... for now. After all, the 'wedding' had only just taken place the day before.

Still, it took a lot to rein in the desire to tell Arthur exactly what his suspicions about Uther were and how he, Merlin, was trying to fix things so that Gwen could become unmarried to Lancelot and Arthur and Gwen could once again be ... whatever they were to each other. It was bloody difficult trying to right all the wrongs in Arthur's life, with nothing to show for it but the brunt of Arthur's oft times foul temper.

"I'll get it washed," Merlin said, using this as an excuse to escape and plot out how he was going to do what he needed to break the enchantment on Uther's ring.

"You do that," Arthur replied, but the heat had gone out of his voice. Now he sounded worn down and sick at heart, and it was worse than his anger, somehow. Arthur stared out the window while Merlin gathered up various bits of clothing that needed washing, which was actually quite a lot. Arthur physically exerted himself a tremendous amount every day, and it made for a good amount of clothing that he'd sweated through.

Merlin eyed him, concerned, wondering if there was anything he could say that would ease Arthur's troubled mind and heart. The truth would probably accomplish that goal. It would be so much easier if he could simply tell Arthur what was going on -- he would obviously be just as eager to break the spell as Merlin, likely even more so, and he could be very helpful with slaying things and bloodletting. Having something to do would also help ease his misery. But just as he had dozens of times before, Merlin kept his silence.

"Is there anything else, my lord?" Merlin asked.

"No," Arthur responded without looking away from the window. "Thank you, Merlin."

Don't worry, I'll fix this, he thought, closing the door behind him. I'll make that treacherous Morgana pay.

He bumped into Gwen in the scullery, which was bustling with maids washing dishes, linen, and clothing in giant tubs. Since Morgana had been banished from Camelot, Gwen had been asked to do more and more of this kind of work, partly out of petty envy for the elevated servant status she had enjoyed for so long as the personal maid to the King's ward, Merlin suspected, and because it would never occur to her to ask either Uther nor Arthur for different work. Gwen did not complain. Gwen did as she was asked and never tried to rise above her station. The fact that she loved Arthur was the only thing she had ever dared to do, it seemed to Merlin, that was something that was for her and only her.

"Hello, Merlin," she greeted, trying to smile normally but not really succeeding. She was up to her elbows in suds.

"How does it feel to be a married woman?" he joked gently, taking a seat beside her and rolling up his sleeves. This wasn't strictly part of his duties, but he wanted to talk to her and the scullery maids certainly wouldn't shoo him out if he was going to help with their work.

"Very funny," Gwen said, wiping her temple with the sleeve of her upper arm, which was free of soap. She lowered her voice. "I feel so guilty about Lancelot. He slept next to the stove last night. It couldn't have been comfortable. He's been so incredibly helpful and understanding."

"Gwen," Merlin said, in what he hoped was a casual tone of voice. "You know that... Lancelot has feelings for you, don't you? That he's a good man -- a very good man -- but his motives may not be completely only to help you." He stopped, hesitating. He didn't want to be unfair to Lancelot, who had never done anyone a lick of harm, but he felt that he had to say something, so that at least Arthur would not be at such a disadvantage in Gwen's eyes. "I mean--"

Gwen shot him a quick smile. "You're a good friend, Merlin. I know what you're trying to say. Lancelot himself confessed it to me."

"He did?" Obviously he'd already been unfair to Lancelot. It should not have surprised him.

"He did," Gwen confirmed, starting to vigorously scrub a shirt.

"And what did you say?" Again Merlin felt that spark of defensiveness, though he was trying his best to be objective.

"I told him that my heart belonged to someone else," she said, and he knew she was deliberately not saying Arthur's name in case anyone was listening to their conversation. He knew that she knew that he knew who she meant. "He said that he understood, but he was willing to sacrifice his life for hope." She shook her head. "It was all he asked of me."

Merlin felt frustrated on Arthur's behalf, and yet was full of admiration for Lancelot. The man knew how to speak to women, that was for certain. Gwen, possessing a kind nature, in particular wouldn't have the heart to gut him, not after all he was doing for her. Merlin didn't know what to say that wouldn't make Arthur annoyed with him later for saying, so he just pressed his lips together and nodded.

"I told him it could be years... decades." She sounded as though she were trying not to despair at the thought, but was failing.

"Oh, I don't think it will be that long," Merlin said.

Something in his voice made her stop her washing and turn to look at him sharply. "What's going on?"

Merlin leaned in close to talk softly in her ear. "I have reason to believe that Morgana is behind Uther's sudden leap of logic that unmarried women equate to sorceresses."

"Mor--" Gwen exclaimed before she could stop herself. "More soap, please," she called, biting her lip. She shot Merlin a look of apology as one of the maids came over with the requested item. "Thank you, Constance."

"I'll need your help," Merlin continued quietly, once Constance had left. "Yours and Lancelot's."

"Of course, whatever you need," Gwen said immediately. Hope shone in her eyes. "Do you think you might be able to reverse whatever she's done? And things can be ... normal again?"

"I have great hope that that is the case," Merlin said. "Gaius and I will await you in our quarters. Come as soon as your evening rounds are done. Bring Lancelot."

Gwen nodded, and they gave each other reassuring half-smiles as they went back to their washing.

~*~

"You really think he's enchanted?" Gwen couldn't hide the hope in her voice.

"Nearly positive," said Merlin. "I've seen the signs enough times to know, and this one wasn't very subtle."

"And you think Morgana's the one behind it?" Gwen didn't know how to feel about that. She changed her mind nearly every day about whether she felt more sorry for her former mistress and friend or angry.

"Who else?" Merlin said these two words lightly, but Gwen could hear the tension behind them. Not for the first time, she wondered what there was between them. Not romantically, of course, but sometimes there was something in Merlin's eyes when Morgana's name was mentioned. Then again, Gwen could just be imagining it.

"Merlin has found a way to break the enchantment," Gaius said. "We believe Uther is wearing a ring that his wife Ygraine used to wear, and it is the source of the enchantment. Destroy the source, and the enchantment should wear off, with Uther none the wiser. Hopefully that means the proclamation will be withdrawn once he comes back to his senses."

Gwen felt her heart sink at these words. That was a possibility she had not considered before now. "You mean there's a chance he won't withdraw it even if the enchantment is lifted," she said hollowly. "Maybe he'll decide, since it's already in place..."

"Don't think that way," Merlin said hastily, with a reassuring smile.

"Anything is possible," said Gaius, ever the pragmatist. "But it's probably highly unlikely, Gwen."

Gwen tried to feel reassured, but it didn't quite work.

"How can we help?" Lancelot asked. His voice came from somewhere close behind Gwen, startling her. She hadn't realized he was so near. Casually, she moved away, closer to Gaius, who was consulting a book.

"We're going to need herbs. I already have most of what we need, but there are two that we'll need to get. Calamus root, which can be found abundantly further to the south, along Lake Highwater, and damania, which can be difficult to find. It tends to prefer soil that has been fertilized by unicorn droppings."

Gwen nodded. "We can get those," she said confidently. "I'll look night and day if I have to."

"I can tell you where Arthur and I found that unicorn that one time," Merlin said. "Hopefully that will at least help narrow down the terrain somewhat."

"You'll need to go alone," Gaius said. "We must also slay a Rruhe, and we'll need Lancelot's help to do that."

Lancelot nodded. "Just point me in the right direction."

"Once we have everything we need, we'll need a sword forged 'by a hand pure of heart, for a true purpose,' with the blood and with the herb mixture."

"Elyan -- my brother -- he can help us," said Gwen. "I'll go to him tonight. He'll help us forge the sword. He can get started while we're gathering what we need."

Gaius nodded.

"If you don't mind my asking," Lancelot said, "What are you going to be doing?" This was directed at Merlin.

"Uh...about that," said Merlin. "We need some other blood as well."

"What?" Gwen asked, alarmed by the hesitancy she heard in Merlin's voice. "What blood? From what?"

"Not what, who," Gaius said. "We need Morgana's blood."

"Morgana's blood!" Gwen burst out. "How is that possible?"

"Well, first I need to find her -- I know, not an easy task," said Merlin.

"And then you're just going to ask her nicely for it?" Lancelot asked wryly.

"Yes, and if that doesn't work, I have another plan." Merlin grinned.

"How can you joke about this?" Gwen asked. "It's too dangerous, Merlin. She's dangerous. She'll kill you."

"She probably could," Merlin acknowledged.

"No!" Gwen exclaimed."It's too dangerous! She's incredibly powerful, and who knows what other help she has now..."

"We don't have any other choice. It has to be me." Merlin sounded resolute, and Gwen knew that he would not be dissuaded.

"We all know what must be done," Gaius said. "Godspeed."

~*~

Merlin was angry. It felt odd to him. He wasn't comfortable with anger, so far as emotions went. It made him feel out of sorts, like his skin wasn't his anymore. He would much prefer to be sad than angry, but since he was rarely given a choice about which emotions he was allowed to feel, it was with a great howl of rage that he stood in the quiet, open clearing and called for the Great Dragon.

An amazing gust of wind stirred around Merlin as the dragon landed, his enormous body sending a tinge of latent fear through the young wizard, as it always did, in spite of the fact that Merlin knew for certain the dragon would not -- could not -- harm him.

"You call again so soon, young warlock," the Dragon noted. "What have you come to ask of me now?"

"Morgana has placed an enchantment on Uther," Merlin said, and the anger -- the betrayal -- stabbed again, hot against his breast. She should know better than this. She should be better than this. It had injured him gravely when he realized he had to end her life to save Camelot, and he had been guiltily relieved when Morgause arrived in time to spare her. But the betrayal he felt, as a fellow sorcerer, as a former friend who had trusted and loved her with the truest of hearts, would not be cooled.

"This I see," the Dragon replied. "A most ingenious method to destroy Arthur's future."

"You sound proud of her," Merlin said, annoyed.

"I can appreciate the skill and cunning of one I have no concern with," the Dragon said. "I told you to end her life long ago. You alone are responsible for the path we are on now."

"It just proves that the things you see aren't written in stone," Merlin insisted. "We can change them."

"You still want to save her," the Dragon mused. "Even now. Your dedication to a rigid ideology is somewhat commendable."

Save her. Cut into her and harvest her blood. Merlin thought that perhaps there would end up being a fine line between the two.

"I need to find her," Merlin said. "Show me where she is."

The Dragon looked at Merlin gravely. "I give you one piece of advice, warlock, and implore you to listen. If you obey no other warning of mine, heed this: you will not be able to defeat her alone, though you are the only one capable of doing so."

Merlin felt his brows draw together. "That doesn't make--"

"It will," the Dragon said, almost soothingly. "Now. I will show you where the witch is hiding. It is up to you to find her."

~*~

Arthur had probably been in worse moods, but if he had he couldn't remember when. He was not ignorant of his own foul temper, but his ability to recognize it did little in the way of softening his words. Merlin had left, calling him 'sire' as if it would cheer Arthur up, and it had made him grit his teeth, wallowing all the more in this impossible situation.

Sire. He had grown up hearing everyone refer to his father that way. It had been Arthur's birthright as well. It had once made him proud. To be like his father, and to be the prince of a great kingdom. He had always taken immense satisfaction and pleasure in his title, even as he recognized the great responsibility it implied. He liked the responsibility. Arthur had always felt oddly ready for it, oddly capable of it.

In the every day, he might falter now and then, but whenever he looked at the bigger picture, it had always been clear: his people came first. They would look to him, not only for their physical wellbeing, but morally as well, and Arthur intended to lead by example. He would ask no man to lay down his life where Arthur himself would not also risk everything. He would judge no burden acceptable for his people that Arthur himself would not suffer at their side. He would be fair with his justice and always, always be sure he had heard every side to a story before action was taken.

It had always felt good to know these things. It had made him feel good about himself, about his future. Surety of thought and purpose was a powerful thing, and Arthur had never had reason to doubt.

Until Guinevere. Until he loved her so completely and so effortlessly that he suddenly could not imagine any future without her. Not the one he had longed and trained for his entire life, nor any other. Life without her was the unthinkable future, and that was why, standing in his chambers, staring out the same window as Merlin left him, Arthur felt his heart clench and his stomach drop because from here, he could see the path that led to her house, and on the path he could see her, his life, his love, his Guinevere.

Walking, arm in arm, with her husband.

The marriage was not remotely legal, and Arthur did not for a moment think Guinevere was being unfaithful, but he could see the way Lancelot curved his body around her -- as if she were his life, his love, his Guinevere, too. No one noticed them. No one thought it odd that they walked together, loved together. No one would threaten to take her life for choosing Lancelot. No one paid them any attention whatsoever. No one but Arthur.

He could not expect Guinevere to spend her life waiting for him, not when there was someone so good, so loyal, so ready to love her at her side. For a moment, Arthur hated Lancelot, but it was a hate born of the fiercest jealousy, and it burnt out with the same ferocity it began.

His future without her stretched before him. It contained all the things he had thought were important, all the things he had always felt such pride, such goodness in before, and he felt nothing but empty and hollow. Despite her determination that he not leave Camelot with her, Arthur was not sure he would be a very good king, not anymore.

Not without her as his queen.

There was a sharp knock at his door and though he was tempted to ignore whoever it was, Guinevere and Lancelot had disappeared from sight and it was probably unproductive to torture himself, imagining what they were doing now.

"Come in," Arthur muttered, turning away from the window.

It was Merlin. Of course. His clothes were in disarray along with his hair. He was covered in leaves and... bugs? Good heavens, he looked like he'd been wrestling a dragon.

"I have good news," Merlin said, his chest heaving with labored breaths. "Well... sort of."

"That's just what I was hoping for," Arthur said dryly. "Sort of good news."

"I believe your father is under an enchantment," Merlin said. "And that Morgana is behind it."

"Morgana," Arthur cursed, the feeling of loss and betrayal and anger and love crashing over him in waves anew. "We have no idea where--"

"I know where she's hiding," Merlin interrupted. "But we don't have much time. I'll tell you everything on the way."

It went against his every instinct, but Arthur decided to trust Merlin. It was more productive than brooding at the window.

And anyway if they were both killed in the attempt at least his torture would be at an end.

~*~

Merlin explained things as briefly to Arthur as he could. He counted on Arthur's determination that bravery, strength, and conviction of character could defeat any magical spell to keep the Prince from questioning exactly how Merlin intended them to obtain some of Morgana's blood.

It worked like a charm.

They rode through the forest for a good deal longer than it had taken the Great Dragon to fly Merlin to Morgana's hideout, an abandoned castle in a neighboring kingdom that had fallen upon hard times many years past.

How many old castles are just lying around in ruin, Merlin wondered idly. And why didn't the people who weren't using them as nefarious hideouts live in them?

"There it is," Arthur shouted over the pounding of their horses' hooves, pointing.

Merlin nodded as the castle came into view. Silently, they tied the horses to a tree and made their way to the rear of the structure, where the Great Dragon had informed Merlin their entry would have less of a chance of being detected.

"How do you know the layout so well?" Arthur asked, looking at him with narrow eyes.

"I met someone who used to serve here before it was abandoned," Merlin fibbed.

Arthur just nodded like the story made sense. It would, of course, because Arthur probably didn't believe Merlin capable of carrying off a deception of any magnitude. Merlin silently prayed Arthur never stopped underestimating him.

They slipped into the back and began making a quiet but hurried trip through the castle. Merlin figured Morgana would be sitting in the throne room, pretending she was Queen of the World.

She wasn't, though. It took them an hour, but they searched every room of the castle. Arthur had his sword at the ready the entire time, and would continually burst into a room like a crusading knight, only to let his shoulders droop in disappointment every time they found it empty. Finally, they reached the first room they'd arrived in again, still Morgana-less.

"Well, that's anticlimactic," Arthur said.

Merlin was about to agree when there was a creaking sound; the door they'd first arrived at opened and Morgana walked through it. Her eyes widened when she saw them standing there and Merlin saw a similar expression on Arthur's face; no doubt his own looked exactly the same. It would have been comical if they weren't all about to try and kill each other.

"You have something we need," Arthur said, the first to recover from his surprise. He straightened and held his sword aloft.

A smirk appeared on Morgana's face. "Silly Arthur."

Arthur moved quickly, but Morgana was faster. She lurched around her half-brother and moved further into the castle. Merlin and Arthur pursued her at once. Half a dozen swords were decorated around the walls of the throne room, and as Merlin had first suspected, that was the room they followed her to. She seized a slender rapier from the wall and pointed it directly at Arthur.

"You never could best me with a sword," she taunted.

"And you just can't stop lying about anything," Arthur countered, and they began to hack at each other with what Merlin thought was really awful swordsmanship.

"You're confusing me with our father," Morgana parried. Arthur's eyes widened and he just barely dodged one of her angry blows. Merlin felt his heart clench.

"Uther is not your father," Arthur said with a tight jaw, lunging toward Morgana's exposed side. She countered easily.

"But he is," she seethed. "I am his dirty little secret. I am the trash he forgot to take out, the undesirable witch he has never called daughter, and surely never will now that he knows what I am."

Arthur paused, his sword wavering as he looked at her intensely. "You're my sister," he said slowly, wonderingly.

"I have never been more than your shadow," Morgana snapped, and they continued their battle.

Merlin thought he saw something in her eyes, however, at Arthur's declaration, the ease at which he made it, even now as they fought one another. He would have accepted her easily, Merlin realized, had she not sought to do such irrevocable damage. She could have had a seat at his table, been a trusted advisor, a beloved sister. Uther's lies had cost them all more than Merlin could bear thinking about.

While Arthur and Morgana continued their heightened sibling rivalry, Merlin looked around the room for anything he could quietly magic into falling onto Morgana's heador rendering her completely mute so she couldn't cast a spell or generally do anything that might let them come out of this thing alive and without anyone trying to kill Merlin for sorcery.

There was nothing that wouldn't look awfully suspicious hurtling itself at Morgana.

"Enough of this," Morgana muttered. "You're boring me, Arthur." Her eyes glowed and she quickly muttered a spell that had Arthur's sword flying out of his hand to clang against the floor on the other side of the room. Morgana posed with the point of her rapier against his throat.

So much for bravery, strength, and conviction of character, Merlin thought.

"I don't understand what happened to you, Morgana," Arthur said angrily, refusing to back down even in his incredibly vulnerable position. "Whatever our father's sins, what could I have possibly done to make you hate me so?"

"It's nothing you did," Morgana said tightly. "It's who you are. It's what Uther took from me."

"It doesn't have to be this way," Arthur said, his anger dying. "It's not too late. We can still--"

"What can we do?" Morgana laughed harshly. "What shall I do? Go back to Camelot, contrite, and beg Uther, who has not spared the life of any person who was accused of sorcery, to just... let it go? Pretend I'm not a witch? What will my life be worth to him now, Arthur? What is it worth to you?"

Arthur shook his head in frustration. "More than you will apparently ever know," he said quietly. "Even with your betrayal, with all that you've done, you will never understand what you mean to me; what you have always meant to me."

Morgana's face broke for a moment; Merlin saw it. Then, something came over her, something terrible, like a child whose heart had been torn too many times, who had been scared for too long and could not bear to feel another moment's fear. She raised her sword and Merlin knew she would strike Arthur down for daring to love her anyway.

Time stood still. Merlin realized he had spoken the words of a spell only after they had been uttered in a clear, powerful voice that sounded completely unlike his own. He couldn't say who looked more shocked -- Arthur, as he still knelt on the floor, and unfortunately still conscious, or Morgana, who was now unarmed and held, imprisoned, against the wall by an unseen magical force.

"Quick," Merlin muttered, kicking her sword at Arthur, who was still kneeling on the ground, stunned. Merlin did not have time for his stupefied bemusement; Morgana would recover from her shock and he could only keep her pinned in place for so long. "Quicker," Merlin suggested.

Arthur shook his head, grasped Morgana's rapier tightly in his hand, and followed Merlin to Morgana's side. Merlin rolled up the sleeve of her dress and she glared at him hatefully. Arthur made a cut in her forearm and Merlin held the vial they'd brought with them, letting a small amount of her magical blood drain into it.

"Merlin," Arthur said shakily, holding the vial with a white-knuckled hand.

"I'll keep her busy," Merlin said with more authority than he had ever used before to speak to Arthur. "Get that back to Camelot."

And be happy. Be so happy with Guinevere. I'm sorry I might not be able to finish things with you like I was supposed to, but you'll be okay with her by your side.

Arthur's gaze jumped back and forth between Merlin and a quickly recovering Morgana, whose expression was beginning to cloud with rage. Her mouth opened. Before she'd finished speaking, Merlin cast a counter spell. She tried to move her arms and legs to no avail. If Merlin had a thousand years, he would never be able to determine what the look on Arthur's face meant. Finally, the future king nodded. Arthur opened his mouth to speak, then simply laid a brotherly hand on Merlin's shoulder. It was the first time Merlin could remember feeling like Arthur saw him as a brother, of sorts. Or an equal, at least.

It almost made everything worth it.

Then, Arthur was gone.

And Merlin was alone with a very angry witch.

~*~

Lancelot was not a stupid man. He could be foolish -- what man in love was not? -- but rarely stupid. He had given his heart to Gwen the first time he saw her; when they had met again, under such horrible circumstances, she had saved him in ways he could never find the words to thank her for. She had also given him hope. If she returned his feelings, even in some small measure, there would always be hope.

It did not seem stupid to hope. Foolish, perhaps, but not stupid. Hope could never be stupid. It was one of man's most positive emotions. And if ever there were something worth hoping for, it was Guinevere, beautiful, kind, brave Guinevere . Loving her with unrequited ferocity was a fool's errand he would run a thousand times, for the rest of his life.

This ruse of Merlin's, however, was the first time Lancelot had ever considered that idea that he might, after all, be completely stupid.

The Rruhe had been almost laughably easy to track and kill; its heart blood was safe in a crystal vial, which itself rested in the satchel Gaius had provided them to place the herbs and other items required to break the enchantment. When they'd set out, Gwen had held onto his arm as they'd walked through town, and his heart had sped up because she was touching him without reason. But as soon as they'd arrived at the secret, out of the way spot Gaius had pointed them to, her arm had left his and he'd realized she had been doing it for show, after all. They were pretending to be married; what newlywed couple went for a romantic stroll through town without touching?

They split up, he to slay the beast, she to gather herbs. He had hoped to spend time with her, not in an attempt to change her mind or her heart, but simply to remind her of the way she'd once felt for him. If she could remember it, then perhaps if things did not work out between her and Arthur -- which he truly did not wish for, despite his heart's own yearnings -- then she would have no reason to spurn him, Lancelot.

It was strange, the way the death of hope felt. Stranger still was that its murderer was nothing of consequence, no passionate embrace or heartfelt declaration.

The first thing he noticed upon returning to the forge -- the logical place for a rendezvous point once all the necessary components had been gathered for the sword's creation -- was that Arthur was back and that Merlin was not with him.

The second thing he noticed was that Guinevere was very, very angry.

"What were you thinking?" she hissed. Her gaze was focused solely on Arthur, whose head was bent like a scolded child. Gaius and Elyan, masters of subtlety, were as far away from the couple as humanly possible, carefully studying the floor at their feet.

Lancelot stared openly.

"Someone had to get it," Arthur said, finding the will to glare at her. Glare! At Guinevere! Lancelot did not think himself capable of such a thing. He wondered how anyone could look upon her with anything but adoration.

Not that she looked particularly adoring herself at the moment.

"Someone," Gwen muttered. "Someone always means you, doesn't it? You're always doing this. You always put yourself at more risk than anyone else. Why don't you understand that you can't do these things?"

"You honestly think I would rather sit around and do nothing than help with this task? I would rather die for a purpose such as this than live to be a thousand years old!"Arthur seethed.

"How can you say that?" Gwen shouted. "You are too important to be lost for such..."

"Such what?" Arthur demanded.

"Such trivial matters," Gwen finished tightly. "We would have found another way. If you died, there would... there would be no way." Her voice broke slightly. "You would be dead and there would be no other way."

"I'm fine," Arthur said, obviously trying to sound calm, though his unsteady voice betrayed him. "Really, it's Merlin you should be concerned for."

"Of course I am!" Gwen cried. "Do you think I'm not concerned for my friend just because I'm trying to get a drop of common sense through your thick, pigheaded skull?"

For a moment, it seemed that Arthur was about to retort again, but he and Lancelot both saw the strain in her shoulders, the worry on her brow, the tears in her eyes. Instead of speaking, Arthur tightened his jaw and moved, his hand grasping Guinevere's. Her hand squeezed back, though her eyes still spit fire and brimstone and terrible fear at him.

They were disappointed with one another, refusing to understand the other's point of view -- and yet they held onto each other, angry and united.

Lancelot could look at them no longer. Hope died between their clasped hands and their passionate countenance. Hope died as neither of them even noticed Lancelot's presence until Gaius cleared his throat and inquired about the Rruhe blood.

"It's here," Lancelot said, holding the bag aloft before Elian took it gratefully.Lancelot smiled at Arthur and Guinevere.

"Thank you," Guinevere said with great feeling, and in her eyes he saw not a kindling of affection, or a buried love -- he saw only guilt. Guilt for making him promises once that she hadn't been able to keep.

"It's all right," Lancelot said softly, nodding his head once. "It's over now."

~*~

This was not going to end well.

It was the last thought Merlin had before Morgana managed to get a spell off and toss him across the room. She muttered again and her arms and legs were free and they were circling one another.

"You," she whispered, staring at him, half in hate and half in... awe?

"I told you," he said, the old betrayal piercing him."I told you that there were other ways. That your magic was a gift, not a curse or a weapon to be wielded against those who don't understand you. We're supposed to be better than that."

"What do you know of it?" Morgana seethed. "You hide in the shadows. You hide what you are -- a mouse, scurrying around, doing Arthur's bidding while you bury what you can do, who you are. I was that mouse once, terrified and clinging to the darkness."

"You're worse now," Merlin said. "What do you think this castle is, if not a bigger mouse hole?"

"Shut up," Morgana snapped, then quickly muttered a spell that would have knocked Merlin unconscious had he not held out his hand and countered it. The spell bounced back and a shocked Morgana held her own hand up, the light and energy moving back and forth between their palms so quickly it elongated until it looked like a single beam, connecting them.

"We could have helped each other," Merlin shouted.

"Ha!" Morgana's eyes spit anger at him. "Before or after you tried to kill me?"

"Before," Merlin threw back. "You had gone too far. Why can't you see that you've gone too far? You're trying to destroy people who've done nothing but love you your entire life."

"They loved a lie," she cried. "Just like Arthur has loved a lie every time he looks at you. I see now how alike we are. Except you, Merlin, are content to be a mouse for the rest of your life."

"It won't always be this way," Merlin insisted, though he wasn't sure at all. If he survived this, if he made it back to Camelot, he had no idea what Arthur would have to say about any of this. It was possible that the very second Uther was in his right mind Arthur would announce that his servant was a sorcerer and the executioner would lead Merlin's welcome home party.

"Where do you get this infuriating hope?" she asked. "You believe so strongly that things will change. They won't. The people who aren't like us will always fear us."

"Not if we give them nothing to fear," Merlin said. "If we are good and just and kind they will learn there is nothing to fear."

"When someone holds power over you, there is always something to fear," Morgana said. "Why do you think I fear Uther so much?"

Merlin saw something then; he saw that Morgana looked genuinely scared and realized for the first time that it was fear, not hate, that motivated her every black action. Swallowing deeply, knowing that if he were wrong this could be the biggest mistake he'd ever made, Merlin took a step closer to her. The beam of light between them shrank and she gasped. Their gazes met, shocked and curious, and she took a step toward him. Merlin gasped this time. It was like... a tingling in his palm, warm and alive.

They each took a step at once, then another, and another, until their palms were half an inch apart. The warmth was amazing, powerful and alive, like nothing Merlin had ever felt before, and he had never felt more himself, or freer, not even when he sat by himself and played with his magic.

This was every spell he'd ever done, every warm fire, every good meal, every comforting embrace -- it was literally everything good he'd ever felt, contained in the palm of his hand. They looked at each other again, a measuring look, and moved at the same time, until their palms connected.

It was catastrophic. Indescribable. Stupefying.

He would never be the same again.

Morgana was breathing heavy and their fingers twined together on instinct; he was positive neither of them had made the conscious decision to do so. His palm was on fire, but it was such an amazing burn that he had no desire to pull away from it, even if doing so meant his own salvation. This had to be what salvation felt like, this fire, this...

"You feel it," Merlin whispered.

"Yes," Morgana agreed, her voice equally hushed. "I don't..."

"Me either," Merlin said.

They both fell silent again; tightened the hold of their hands; stared, unashamedly, at the light that fought to free itself from their pressed palms.

"It was supposed to hurt you," Morgana muttered, confused. "It was supposed to bring terrible pain, and..."

"I know," Merlin said. "Yours, too." He quirked an eyebrow, as if to say, what goes around, comes around, and the most amazing thing happened.

Morgana smiled. It wasn't an evil smirk or a calculating half grin. It was wide and beautiful and reminded him so much of the friend he'd loved and identified with that Merlin found himself smiling back at her. Then they were standing there, palms pressed together, blinding, magical light between them, grinning at each other like idiots because they were feeling something neither had ever experienced before, something that apparently only existed when everything he was and everything she was came together without pretense or shadows... when neither of them were acting a thing like mice.

He should have been surprised when she kissed him, but he wasn't. Her lips were warm, and now, so were his. He wanted to touch more of her.

So he did. He touched all of her. She touched all of him.

And at every point, there was tremendous, blinding light.

~*~

Arthur had never ridden harder in his life. The guards who patrolled the lower tower jumped or ran out of the way as he approached. Arthur clambered off his horse and raced all the way to the throne room, the precious sword Elyan had forged strapped securely to his back. He forced his mind blank of all the information and emotion swirling through his thoughts. There would be time later to examine it all, to make sense of the secrets the people he loved best had seen fit to keep from him. For now, there could only be action. This madness, at least, he would put to an end.

The room was empty save for Uther.

Arthur closed the doors behind him gently. His father sat at his throne, staring out the windows with an unreadable expression on his face. Arthur began walking toward him.

"Hello, Father," he said quietly.

Uther seemed surprised at his presence. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "Shouldn't you be training the knights? You shouldn't be neglecting your duties, Arthur."

"You're right," said Arthur. "My first duty is to the King." He reached his father. "You're wearing a ring that I believe belonged to my mother. I'd like to see it."

Uther looked down at his right hand. "I can't let you touch it," he said, though he looked surprised when the words left his mouth. "I don't know why, but I can't let you."

Arthur sighed. "I was afraid of this." He drew his sword.

"What are you doing?" Uther looked alarmed.

"Father, I need that ring," Arthur said calmly. "It's making my life very difficult."

"Have you gone insane, Arthur?" Uther began to back away. "Guards!"

"No one is outside," said Arthur. "Just give me the ring, Father."

Uther drew his own sword. "I can't."

"I just want to see it."

"I can't." Uther suddenly lunged toward Arthur with a cry.

Arthur, though startled, easily parried the blow. Uther fought back in earnest. His father was a good swordsman, there was no doubt about it, but he was not as good as Arthur. And he was not as young as Arthur. Eventually, Uther would lose, and they both knew it. But Arthur didn't have time for this. He needed this to be over. So in a move that took Uther completely by surprise, Arthur feinted left, toward his father's unprotected side, which Uther went to block, and Arthur hit his father's head with the flat side of his sword. Hard.

Uther crumpled to the ground, hardly making a sound. Immediately, Arthur knelt down and twisted the dragonfly ring off the other man's finger. He allowed himself a moment to study it, to admire its beauty, to try and picture it on his mother's hand. Then he placed the ring on the table, lifted the sword, and brought it down as hard as he could.

A blinding light issued forth that forced Arthur to cover his eyes with his forearm, staggering back. After several moments the light was gone, and Arthur saw that the ring had been sliced neatly in half. With some effort, he removed the blade from the table -- he'd have to explain that somehow -- and pocketed the two halves of the ring.

Uther let out a small groan, and Arthur hurried to his side. "Father? Are you all right?"

"What -- what happened?" Uther sounded groggy.

"Don't you remember?"

"No. I can't... My head -- it hurts--"

"I'll get Gaius," Arthur said. "Don't move; I'll call for some guards to take you to your chambers."

When Arthur left the room, he felt a hundred stone lighter than he had when he'd entered it just a short time ago.

~*~

Merlin tried to stop smiling. He really did. It would not be at all convincing if he prostrated himself before Arthur, begging pardon and understanding for his magic if, the entire time, he could not stop grinning like an idiot.

His mind was a riot of conflicting thoughts about what had transpired with Morgana, but his body and heart were not. His heart was soaring, sated and hungry in equal measure by the connection they had established. His body was alive. More alive than he had ever been playing with clouds and watching sparks fly at his magical whim. This was everything he had been missing his entire life.

That he had found it with Morgana was of some concern; he'd passed out after a few hours of feeling the magical, crackling fire between them. He actually blushed to remember how they'd been with each other, how she'd touched him, how she'd looked at him -- and when he'd woken, she had gone. She had left a rose in her place, blood red, exactly the shade of her wicked, beguiling smile. Merlin had it tucked into his bag. He wondered what would happen now, whether she would remain their enemy. He wondered how much he would share with Arthur and Gwen.

He wondered when he would see Morgana again.

At the gates of Camelot, Merlin paused, waiting for a moment, then continued on. It was, he decided, a good sign that Arthur had not given an order to capture him on sight; of course, that could merely mean that Arthur had more important things to attend to, like breaking Uther's enchantment. Best to be vigilant.

After stabling the horse, Merlin made his way slowly but surely through the castle. He saw Lancelot and waved briefly. Lancelot returned the gesture slowly, a bit sadly, and continued on his way without stopping to speak.

Arthur had done it, then; the enchantment was broken and he and Gwen would be roughly in the same position they had been in before.

Outside the Crown Prince's chambers, Merlin paused again. A knot of unease was slowly growing in his gut. He raised his fist to knock, then dropped it. Raise and drop, raise and drop -- he repeated the motion three more times before lurching forward and banging far too loudly to make up for the cowardice he felt.

"Come in," Arthur commanded.

The door opened slowly, because Merlin was not pushing it very hard at all. Sucking in a deep, fortifying breath, he stepped gamely into the room and closed the door behind him. He and Arthur stared at one another for a long time.

"So," Merlin said, stretching the 'oh' sound out as long as possible.

"So," Arthur said, with a great deal more brevity.

"I imagine you might have some..." Merlin let it hang there.

"Questions?" Arthur offered.

"Those," Merlin said. "Sure."

Arthur nodded, considering. Then, he said, "About?"

Merlin cocked his head to the side and felt uncomfortably like a confused spaniel. "About..."

Arthur made a "get on with it" gesture with his hand.

"About what you saw," Merlin said in a sudden burst. It was as though he couldn't keep it inside another second without exploding.

"And what did I see?" Arthur asked in a too-calm voice.

Heart racing, palms sweating, and stomach churning, Merlin swallowed back a dry heave and looked Arthur straight in the eye. His voice, when it finally came, was much stronger than he felt.

"You saw me doing magic."

Arthur did the most extraordinary thing. He laughed. Then he bent over at the knee and guffawed.

"You," he whimpered out between chortles, "should see the look on your face..."

"This is not remotely the reaction I was expecting," Merlin muttered. He wondered if Arthur, shaken from his world view being shattered by the knowledge that Merlin was not completely useless, had had some sort of break with reality.

Letting out a final bark of laughter, Arthur wiped his eyes with the back of his forearm and straightened again to his full height. "I really needed that after the past few days," he confessed.

"I'm glad I amuse you," Merlin snapped before he remembered he had meant to be humble and apologetic. But how could he possibly maintain a countenance of contrition when forced to deal with such an insensible prat?

"Oh, you do, Merlin," Arthur agreed. "But just now I've won a bet with myself, so I find that I'm doubly pleased."

"A bet," Merlin repeated doubtfully.

"Yes," Arthur said. "I wagered with myself that you would not be able to keep your little magic tricks secret for another year, and as you can see, I've won."

"Another year," Merlin said slowly. His eyes widened. "Are you saying you...?"

"Knew? Yes." Arthur shrugged. "Not the entire time I've known you. I assume you've been hiding this your whole life?"

"Yes," Merlin confirmed, his mind numb with shock.

"I've only known since you -- and I know it was you -- let yourself be captured in my bedchamber. Dragoon..." Arthur pulled his lips back from his teeth and hissed, "...the Great!" in what Merlin thought was a very poor and somewhat insulting impression.

"It was only to save Gwen," Merlin protested.

"Yes," Arthur agreed. "I figured that out. And then I thought about a great many other things." He smiled. "You're much smarter than you look, Merlin."

"Thanks...?"

Arthur cuffed Merlin on the arm. "And you're exactly as loyal as you look." Arthur looked down for a moment. "I've spent the past few months re-examining a great many of my beliefs. Magic is... dangerous. Potentially lethal. Often abused in the most abhorrent of ways." He cocked his head in acknowledgement. "Not unlike the blade of a sword, or the intentions of a good but powerful man."

"So you don't believe..." Merlin couldn't even finish the thought. He wondered if he might be dreaming. It would go a long way to explaining those lost four hours with Morgana.

"I believe," Arthur said simply, "that you are a good but powerful man. And I believe that you would never use that power to harm an innocent person." He raised his eyebrows. "My father, on the other hand..."

Merlin smiled tightly. "Is still king."

"And not inclined to re-examine any of his beliefs," Arthur said, sighing. "Then again, as those around me are so fond of pointing out -- he will not be king forever." There remained a deep sadness in Arthur's voice as he said this - sadness, but also, Merlin could swear, relief.

"No," Merlin agreed. They stared at each other for a moment. "So then, I should--"

"Get out, yes," Arthur agreed.

"Bye."

Merlin hurried out of the room, closing the chamber door behind him. In the hallway, he smiled, that goofy grin he'd earlier knocked off his face by force. Arthur hadn't even asked what happened with Morgana.

He smiled all the way back home. Merlin couldn't wait to tell Gaius the news. Well, maybe not all of it.

~*~

He brought her flowers. They weren't much -- Guinevere hadn't really been overly fond of the roses Arthur had once brought her from the royal garden, so he had taken to picking her small bunches of the small buds of varying color that grew throughout the palace grounds. Those, she loved. They tell me about you, Arthur, she'd said, inhaling them the first time he'd visited her, bundle in hand. They show me which you found loveliest, what color or shape reminded you of me. These flowers show me more clearly than anything else exactly how you see me.

That had been the first afternoon they had lain together in her too-small bed, sweaty and stumbling and desperate for their own forever. He brought her wildflowers as often as he could, and he found it remarkable how many things they could express. He could say he was sorry; he could say he loved her; he could say she was still the loveliest thing he had ever seen in all his life.

What he could not say was "I'm so glad your erstwhile husband is gone," because he was still there.

Arthur was not the sort of man to skulk in the shadows and observe private conversations. And so it was with great surprise that he found himself ducking inside the back door of Guinevere's house, watching through a curtain as Lancelot wrapped his arms around the love of Arthur's life and held on like he was never letting go.

Guinevere's arms wrapped around Lancelot's neck, the palm of her hand briefly caressing the back of his head. Arthur knew what that felt like; she used it to soothe him when he was in a particular snit, and he found it utterly unacceptable that another man knew that exact brand of comfort.

"Goodbye," Guinevere said, tears in her voice. "I wish you such wonderful things."

"Perhaps there is a happily ever after for me down the road," Lancelot agreed. "I would wish you the same, but you've already found yours."

Arthur was mollified until Guinevere laughed, a broken a little sound that cut into his heart.

"I wish it were that simple," she whispered.

"It will be," Lancelot assured her, giving a final -- unnecessary, as far as Arthur was concerned -- squeeze to her back. He bowed, looking at her one last time, then disappeared out the door.

Guinevere closed it behind him and let her forehead rest against the wood.

Arthur, disgusted with himself and her for lowering him to the point where he avidly listened to every word of their private conversation, cleared his throat loudly.

She spun around with a gasp, covering her mouth with a hand that shook ever so slightly. Arthur parted the curtain and stepped into the main room.

"Arthur," she whispered, lowering her hand to her heart. "You frightened me."

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to interrupt," he said, feeling hollow. I wish it were that simple. What did that mean? She wished she did not love them both? She wished she were free to leave with Lancelot?

Well, she was. If her heart did not lie with him, Arthur had no interest in holding it hostage, or binding Guinevere to him because she felt the need to keep her promises.

"Interrupt," she said slowly, narrowing her eyes.

"Your romantic farewell," Arthur said, gesturing expansively with the wildflowers. "It was very touching. I can only imagine how you'll pine for each other until the next time you're reunited."

"Reunited," she said in the same tone, her back growing stiffer.

Arthur sensed danger, sensed he was being wildly inappropriate, but was unable to censor himself through the wrenching pain he felt at the thought of her in Lancelot's arms, sharing her little bed with him, sharing her too-big heart with him, just like how she'd offered him her comfort not a few moments ago.

"You are not bound by your promises," Arthur said before he could think better of it. "I would never... I would never expect you to wait. I told you I did not expect you to wait, certainly not if you had a... better offer." The words tasted bitter on his tongue, like bile.

"A better offer," she repeated, as though the words he was saying did not make sense to her.

They stared at one another and he tried to think of something else to say, something that would make this right, or different. He could not find a way to apologize without admitting he was wrong, and he wasn't sure that he was. He wanted to be wrong. For the first time in Arthur Pendragon's life, he wanted so badly to be wrong.

He also needed to speak. She looked lost, and he'd done that to her. He opened his mouth, but before another word could emerge, she began to speak.

"Do you know how many promises I would break to stay with you?" she asked, a tear rolling down her cheek. "Honor is nothing to me. I made promises to Lancelot and I cast them aside the moment I thought there was a chance for us. I would spend my life as your mistress if there were no other way. Is that what you need to hear? Will that convince you?"

Arthur opened his mouth again, and once again, she was quicker than he.

"I have gravely injured a good man because I turned to him when I thought I could not have you, and turned him away the moment I learned that I could. And more awful still, I would turn him away a thousand times more, hurt him a thousand ways, if he was all that stood between us."

"Stop." Arthur raised his hand toward her, then dropped it. He realized his other hand still grasped the wildflowers and he walked to her slowly, as unsteadily as he had ever moved, and pressed them against her chest, waiting until her hand rose to clutch his fingers and the flowers. He offered them to her because he was sorry, and because he loved her, and because she was the loveliest thing he had ever seen and he could not imagine his life without her.

"I'm a fool," he muttered, and kissed her forehead, then her cheek, her jaw, and the graceful tip of her nose. Her face was unresponsive, so hurt and angry she was shaking. He forced himself to think of what she had gone through these past days -- yet another threat to her life because of his father, a false marriage to a man she knew was in love with her, and the worry she'd so artfully expressed to Arthur about his own safety. Jealousy was apparently a color he did not wear well at all.

"You are a fool," she agreed, her voice heavy and thick with tears.

"I am. And I'm so desperately in love with you I cannot think, I cannot reason, and I certainly cannot bear the sight of you pressed against another man, a man who loves you nearly as much as I do, without losing what is left of my unthinking, reasonless mind."

"Arthur," Guinevere whispered, and he kissed her mouth, because she had said everything she needed to say already.

"I'm sorry that I did need to hear you say that," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not," she said quietly, surprising him. She looked into his eyes, brushed her palm against his cheek, then moved it to the back of his head; comforting, stroking, and he thought the way she touched him felt different than the way he'd seen her touch Lancelot. She had offered the other man comfort, yes, but her hand lingered on Arthur, loath to separate from him, longing to touch him as long as they had together.

"You're not?" He sounded disbelieving to his own ears.

"No," she said. "After all, I finally got the Crown Prince of Camelot to admit he's a fool. It's been a fairly good day for me."

Arthur smiled, the first real smile of utter peacefulness that he could remember in days. "You look unbearably smug, my love," he said.

She smiled back, and the sun came out as far as Arthur was concerned. "That, my lord," she said, pressing her lips to his once, briefly, "is exactly how I feel."

Her attempt at brevity was unwelcome. He swept her into his arms and did not stop moving until they were clasped tightly together on the tiny bed. The wildflowers were crushed beneath them, their scent released into the air.

Arthur spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the night apologizing to Guinevere with the desperate yearning of a fool in love.

= end =

End Notes: Thank you for reading! We hope you enjoyed reading this half as much as we enjoyed writing it for our dear friend. Happy new year, and may all of our collective 2011 be filled with good fortune, good friends, and good Merlinfic. The title of this story is from a song of the same name by The Weepies.

Our improvisational elements, given by akscully: 1) an ostrich, 2) a dragonfly, 3) Gwaine, 4) a bit of detective work, and 5) a fake wedding.

Oh, and -- originally we sent the following to her and said that it was the story, because we thought playing this little joke on her would be hysterically funny. She was so nice about it, however, that we ended up feeling bad instead. Thanks a lot, A.!

No Joy In Mudville
by Jade and Sarea Okelani

"I can't marry you," Guinevere told Arthur. It made him sad to hear such heartbreaking words from her beautiful lips.

"Of course you can," Arthur argued. "Anyway, it'll just be a marriage of convenience until they change the laws for Merlin and me. I've already got your ring, see? It's a dragonfly. The eyes are diamonds."

"It's... lovely, but the ring isn't why I can't marry you," Gwen said unconvincingly.

"But it took Merlin ages to find it," Arthur continued. "Quite a lot of detective work to track down just the right shape. Did you know dragonflies come in all shapes and sizes? Big ones, little ones, fat ones, skinny ones--"

"Arthur, I cannot marry you because my heart lies with another," Guinevere interrupted because she could not bear to hear about another type of dragonfly.

Arthur's jaw worked angrily. "Lancelot," he hissed.

"No," a voice said from behind them, "Not Lancelot."

"Gwaine," Gwen said, her hand pressed to her heart. "I told you to wait outside."

"The other women are starting to flock," Gwaine admitted without modesty.

"Of course," Gwen said. "Arthur - good luck with Merlin. I'm sure things will work out."

"But I'll miss you," Arthur said, for he was a confused sad panda.

Gwen climbed onto the back of Gwaine's ostrich and the two rode it into the sunset.

=the end=