Tales They'll Never Tell
by imp

Tales They'll Never Tell

imp

Summary

Post Merlin S1; Gwen and Morgana dance around each other as Morgana works to control her magic.

Notes

None

Chapter One

Gwen had heard a rumor down in the market that she had become Morgana's maidservant when Morgana saved her from being heinously whipped by a guardsman. It sounded, Gwen though, rather like a fairy tale, with Morgana the handsome prince and herself the shy maiden.

The truth was rather a lot more dull: Gwen had simply been chosen because one of her distant cousins had the king's ear. Gwen, twelve years old and eager to Make Something of herself, had taken the position readily.

At that point Morgana had been Lady Morgana, the capricious thirteen-year-old who was determined to continue learning swordplay and hated her developing breasts and the attention of the court's men with equal fervor. "I shall die," she announced to Gwen, that first day of Gwen's service, "on some man's sword. Literally, I mean, not in a passionate way. I shall die knowing I have stood in opposition, and stood strong."

At the time Gwen thought, with the naïve wisdom of a country girl, that Morgana was simply imitating Uther.

At the time she had not realized that Morgana's own power guaranteed her a spot at the end of a sword.

||

Gwen turned fourteen and Morgana turned fifteen and Gwen walked in on her with her skirts rucked up above her waist, touching herself with her head thrown back and tiny gasps coming from her mouth -

And it was all bollocks after that for quite some time. Nearly all of summer, anyway. Gwen was shy and stumbled with her words in a way she never had before, and Morgana was onerous for no good reason that Gwen could see. It was particularly tiresome since her temper now often took the shape of her yelling at Gwen for tasks Gwen had done perfectly.

But they grew older, and as the awkwardness finally faded their relationship moved to friendship. Gwen brought her flowers, occasionally, to see her smile – and then Merlin arrived, and suddenly she'd try to carry flowers to Morgana's room and encounter Merlin's vague smirk. He liked to act as though he knew things Gwen didn't, much like Arthur himself did with Morgana – though Merlin was a good deal more innocent, and Gwen sometimes wasn't even sure he meant to smirk.

Gwen didn't know what he thought he knew. She rather suspected she didn't want to know.

After Merlin came, It began to happen more frequently. It was Morgana waking up in cold sweats, screaming; It was Morgana, pale and angry, whispering that she knew what was going to happen. It was Morgana giving herself headaches trying to learn to scry. Gwen was scared nearly constantly because of it, but she couldn't ask Morgana to stop. She wasn't sure Morgana knew how to stop.

The summer after Merlin came, Morgana stopped taking Gauis' draughts and stopped listening to his advice. The visions – even Gwen could call them that now – came with even greater frequency. Gwen scarcely left Morgana's side for fear that a truly terrifying one would arrive and she'd be too far away to provide comfort..

And that was the summer that finally superseded myth. After it, Gwen rarely went down to the market alone; she did not know what rumors slid from stall to stall. But she was quite certain that none of them would be more ridiculous than the truth. For once, the truth was so far beyond belief as to be quite above the reach of imagination.

||

It began rather innocently, with Morgana sitting up in bed after a particularly troubling bout of visions and frowning at Gwen.

"I wish," she said, and stopped, as though to think her next statement over.

"Yes?" Gwen said finally, because she was quite horrible at standing still and waiting.

Morgana smiled a little, as though she knew the nature of the very un-servant-like thoughts moving through Gwen's mind. "I wish there was a way to control this. I wish I could be more like Merlin, with his magic."

Gwen bit back an uncharitable thought. Merlin should have helped Morgana to begin with, instead of helping Gaius give her the tools to pretend her magic was anything but what it was. "We could practice," she said instead. "See what it is you can do."

"I don't want to just see the future." Morgana's voice sounded small, plaintive. Young. "There's nothing of value there, just pain and darkness."

Gwen heard, as though it was an echo, Morgana's young, foolish voice: I shall die on the end of a sword. "We will have to be careful."

Morgana nodded. "Uther."

Well, yes, there was that. The beheading and all. "No," Gwen forced herself to say. "You."

Morgana's gaze sharpened – that was the only word for it. Not that her eyes truly changed color, or anything like that (though Gwen supposed they could, probably, if Morgana was really determined) – but her gaze narrowed and her lips pursed. "Me?"

"You could go down a bad road. You said you'd die on the point of a sword, remember?"

"Gwen." Morgana huffed an impatient breath. "That doesn't mean I'm going to, I don't know -"

"Commit treason?" Gwen said almost without thinking.

She thought about it, very hard, when Morgana's hands curled into fists. "I did not commit treason."

"No," Gwen said. Her neck prickled, like it was imagining an axe's blade against it. "But nearly."

"For you."

It felt like a physical blow. For her? Nonsense. "Because you were angry at Uther. Because he's controlling, and - "

"It's of no consequence," Morgana said. Now her voice was smooth, the easy tone she used when conversing with near-violent lords or Uther himself in a temper. "You will aid me in continuing my studies, or I shall dismiss you. That's all."

Gwen wanted, a bit, to punch her. She'd gotten in many a fight with the kitchen girls and stable boys. She was quite handy.

Of course, her neck prickled at her, she'd also be quite handy at being beheaded. "Very well, then," she said stiffly. "Goodnight, my lady."

For a second there was the strange shift in the air that Gwen knew was some part of her realizing Morgana was about to speak. But then Morgana simply leaned back against her pillows and closed her eyes.

It was a complete dismissal. Gwen left silently.

When she entered Morgana's room the next morning, just before dawn, Morgana was already sitting at the window. Gwen opened her mouth to ask what, precisely, her lady was doing, when Morgana said, "Shh."

Gwen instead moved to stand behind her – and gasped. Outside, a thick vine was curling over the window, supported by absolutely nothing.

"I can move it, you see," Morgana said. "And I won't die on the point of a sword. Under it, perhaps."

Gwen shivered. "I...I've drawn your bath," she said weakly.

She'd seen magic since Merlin arrived. She knew she had. But it was chilling all the same, to see it like this, to know absolutely what she was seeing..

"I saw inside your room," Morgana said.

Gwen wasn't surprised, really. Morgana had done any number of foolish things since Gwen began life in her employ; it had been less than a year, after all, since Morgana had attempted to spend a night outside in the snow. Her fingers had been purple and Gwen had spent an hour massaging feeling back into them and then her feet. The only reason Morgana had done it was because Arthur had said something scornful about girls needing to stay in the castle.

Still, Morgana seeing into Gwen's room was foolish in a different way – a way that, if it didn't surprise her, certainly made Gwen uncomfortable. "Really."

"It seemed sensible to practice further scrying first, before I tried other things." Morgana lowered the hand that had been pressing against the glass, and the vine dropped from view. "I don't want him to kill me, you know."

Part of Gwen's duties was being as honest as possible, and she knew it. It was still difficult to say, "You've behaved as though you did in the past."

"I'm a fool." Morgana smiled a little, though to Gwen's way of thinking it was hardly a joke. "You know that, dear."

It was an endearment she'd used many times in the past. There was no reason for Gwen's stomach to twist, no reason for her hands to shake as though they'd just been struck. "Well, of course."

"Well, of course," Morgana said lightly, not quite mockingly. "I won't look into your room if you don't want me to. Though I can't imagine what you'd be hiding. Have you a fellow, finally?"

It had been something Morgana had inquired about since Gwen had begun in her employ; the answer was always the same. "Of course not. I'm just not sure I enjoy being watched."

"I see." Morgana turned away from the window. "Draw my bath, then."

She'd long since become used to Morgana undressing in front of her, her body something Gwen was not permitted to admire. But today something felt different. Morgana sank into the bath water and Gwen was reminded of turning fourteen, seeing Morgana laugh at a courtier's joke and realizing she absolutely, absolutely must not allow her emotions to gain precedence where Morgana was concerned.

"Do you need anything else, my lady?"

"So eager to leave?" Morgana looked over at her lazily. "I will need help in scarcely ten minutes. I am uncertain what you could accomplish in such a short time, efficient though you are."

"I was going to lay out your dress, my lady."

"Oh." Morgana laughed. "Of course. Have at it, then."

It was dreadful phrasing. Gwen just barely stopped herself from correcting Morgana – she was a lady, after all. Instead she busied herself with laying out a dark blue dress, brushing the few specks of dirt from it and cleaning Morgana's comb and brush.

"It will be a beautiful day," Morgana said. The bath water dripped as she raised a leg.

"Is that prophecy, my lady?" Gwen couldn't stop herself from asking.

"Supposition," Morgana said. "Based on, perhaps, astutely reading the weather."

Noblemen could track animals and sniff out a storm. Morgana had taught herself to as well. "I see," Gwen said as blandly as she could.

"You don't approve. Oh, Gwen. If you truly didn't approve of everything I do, you wouldn't still be in my employ." Gwen heard the particular shift of water that meant Morgana was standing. "I'm ready."

Gwen swallowed hard and stood, wrapping Morgana in three separate towels, patting her hair dry. "Shall I comb your hair now, my lady?"

"You know how I enjoy it," Morgana said. Her eyes flicked up and down Gwen casually. Gwen ignored the way her stomach tightened; Morgana, for all her carefully practiced coquetry and even more carefully practiced weaponry skills, was often utterly unconscious of what she did to Gwen.

It was for the best, Gwen reminded herself. She'd heard tales of women loving one another in...that manner...but none about noblewoman. Certainly none about a noblewoman loving a maidservant.

"I think Arthur will appreciate the dress you picked out," Morgana said, settling in her chair as Gwen took up the comb. "Don't you?"

Gwen physically bit her tongue to keep from saying anything stupid. "I'm sure," she said finally. Even to her own ears she sounded dreadfully stilted. "If he's a man of even a little taste, he will."

"Mmm." Morgana sighed and tilted her head back. "You must never leave me, Gwen. Even if you see my future and it is on the tip of a sword."

Gwen very nearly choked. "I don't – I –"

"You cannot see the future. Of that I am well aware." Morgana reached back blindly, brushing her fingers down Gwen's arm until her hand encircled Gwen's wrist. Gwen forced herself to continue working the comb through Morgana's hair with her free hand. "But you can see me, often more clearly than I can see myself."

Morgana would want an answer; Gwen knew it. If only she could get her tongue to unstick itself from the roof of her mouth. "You wish me to serve as your...as your distraction," she said finally. "As the person who pulls you back from being or doing too much."

"Naturally," Morgana said in airy tones that Gwen was sure were meant to convey that it truly was natural.

How curious. "Very well, my lady," Gwen said.

Morgana sighed. "Gwen."

Everything from her tone to her posture told Gwen what she wanted. "Morgana," Gwen amended, gently pulling the comb through Morgana's wet hair. "Very well, Morgana."

"Thank you," Morgana said. She sounded as though she meant it.

The curve of her breast was just visible above the towel. Gwen closed her eyes very briefly and continued combing.

||

"Do you think she means to do it?" Arthur asked her two nights later.

Gwen blinked. "I'm sorry. Means to do what? Who?"

Arthur nodded at Morgana. "I'm sloshed, you understand," he said, leaning a bit inappropriately close. "'s why I'm talking to you. Merlin tells me you're positively fantastic company, and now I may enjoy you, as everyone's too drunk to remember my indiscretions in the morning." He burped.

It was knowledge that Arthur himself wouldn't remember any indiscretions that had Gwen saying brightly, "Perhaps, then, you should find a girl prettier than I and enjoy her company."

"Don't be ridiculous. Uther positively applauds that behavior. No," Arthur said, "it's got to be you, I'm quite sorry to say. It works out rather well. We're both staring at her, after all."

"And yet, you did not bed her, even when she would have," Gwen said.

"Would she? I rather think she'd captivated by...others," Arthur said. "Merlin tells me you love her."

Gwen rather wanted to throw up, or at the very least slap him and leave. Instead she forced herself to say, "Merlin tells you a lot of things."

"Do you think I should take him to bed? He thinks so. I'm not so sure. The magic thing, and all. Father would be furious if he ever found out, and I rather like my head where it is."

"He wouldn't behead his only son," Gwen said, with rather a lot more scorn than she suspected one should use with the crown prince.

"I've been too well-schooled in history to believe it impossible," Arthur said. "You're rather pretty, you know. I suppose it could be you."

Gwen blinked. "What?"

"Something holds her back." Arthur gestured so expansively that 'her' could quite easily have been the plant next to them, the overturned table halfway across the hall, the barrel of wine directly in front of them, or Morgana herself. Gwen chose to assume he meant Morgana. "It's not me, certainly, and it's not lack of confidence on her part. But it could be you. You're quite becoming, as I said."

"You're horrifying," Gwen said flatly. "Kindly cease conversing with me."

Arthur laughed. Gwen thought, with growing terror, that he was not going to stop, not at all – but then he laughed so hard he fell over and lost consciousness.

It was convenient. Gwen was pleased, and stayed that way until dawn, when Morgana stumbled over to her.

"Really, Gwen, you should have taken me to bed hours ago," Morgana said in the low, sweet voice she had never before used when talking to Gwen, but which Gwen recognized from hours at Morgana's elbow as she wound a lord around her little finger.

It made Gwen want to hide even more than Arthur's incredibly odd sentiments had. "My lady, you seemed rather determined to spend the night out and about," she said finally.

"Rather determined. Your lady." Morgana shook her head. "I see. Well, take me back. I'm tired."

The last was said petulantly. She sounded like anything but a great lady – for which Gwen was incredibly grateful. She took Morgana's hand and used it to loop her loose-limbed arm over Gwen's shoulders. "Come, my lady," she said, and stepped forward.

Luckily, Morgana understood and stepped with her. "Such glorious wine. I wonder who I should thank for it."

"No one, in the state you're in," Gwen said grimly. "Let's get you to bed."

"I could...I could." Morgana laughed, then hiccuped through the laugh. "Oh, Gwen."

Gwen thought it was utterly reasonable of her to want to punch Morgana's head, and an example of truly superior control that she did not. "Bed," she said again, firmly, and guided Morgana towards it.

"Gwen," Morgana mumbled again, pressing back against her pillows. "My dress."

She would worry about the sodding dress. "You'll be too miserable to care when you wake up," Gwen said peevishly, but she undressed Morgana quickly before tucking her in. "Don't go to sleep yet," she added, and went to get a cup of water.

To her surprise, Morgana obeyed; when she returned Morgana watched her movements with wide eyes. "Do you ever hate me?" she said urgently.

"Be quiet and drink," Gwen said, holding the cup to Morgana's lips. She could not endure any more wine-fueled questions or statements.

"Thank you," Morgana said quietly, closing her eyes. On pain of death Gwen could not tell another person how she knew, since Morgana didn't move – but it was clear to her that Morgana had relaxed, ready to sleep.

Gwen could return to her room; conventionally and practically, it was the correct thing to do. But if Morgana woke at night and needed to throw up, or if she simply needed more water –

Served her right, the drunkard. But Gwen wanted to be here to not provide the service, at least. She wanted, a tiny part of her admitted, to watch over her foolish drunk Lady.

||

She regretted her sentimentality at noon the same day, when scarcely six hours after falling asleep, Morgana woke her with pathetic moans.

"Never again," she said, arm over her eyes. "Never."

"Consider yourself lucky," Gwen said from her spot on the floor, where she'd stretched out after realizing she could not leave Morgana. "Uther was quite drunk as well. No one will demand your attention until nightfall."

"Oh dear God," Morgana said, sitting up sharply. "Gwen? What are you doing in here?"

"Watching over you so you didn't drown in your own vomit. Also, sleeping."

"Oh God," Morgana said with the closest approximation to devoutness Gwen had ever heard from her. "What did I say?"

"Nothing terribly embarrassing," Gwen said, pressing her legs together. It was morning and she was always...more...in the morning. It hardly signified here, with Morgana, but it was still rather difficult to ignore. "Shall I draw you a bath?"

"You'll have to wash me. I can scarcely lift an arm."

"Perhaps I should wait on the bath, then," Gwen said after a horrible moment when all she could think about was running the cloth over Morgana's arms, legs, stomach and...

She hadn't done it in well over a year. Today was not a good time to start. "Or I could call another maid to wash you."

"No," Morgana said after a moment's consideration. "No, I think I'd prefer you. And you shall wash me. It's one of your duties, you know."

She did know, but that didn't stop her from wanting to sink directly through the floor. "Very well. I'll ring for water to be sent up."

"Good." Morgana pressed two delicate fingers against her temples. "You should also send one of them to Gaius for some tea."

"I'd be happy to go for that, my lady. It might be best if it traveled directly."

"I doubt anyone will try to poison me today." Morgana met her eyes; Gwen nearly flinched. "And I've noticed your constant attempts to escape my company, you see."

Gwen did see, unfortunately. Far too clearly. "My apologies."

"Just go give the orders," Morgana said, still massaging her temples. She looked cross now, and though logically Gwen knew she'd done nothing wrong, she still wanted to atone for it.

But not following orders certainly wouldn't help. "Yes, my lady," she said, and hurried to tell the ever-present serving girls to fetch the Lady Morgana hot water and a remedy from Gaius.

When she returned, Morgana was sitting on the end of her bed with her head bowed. After a moment of hesitation, Gwen moved closer, placing her fingers on Morgana's temples. "Does this help?"

"Move your fingers in tiny circles," Morgana said, voice lower than usual.

Gwen obeyed. Morgana sighed and leaned a little closer, nightgown stretching over her knees. Gwen had to stand in front of her bent legs, leaning over awkwardly. From this angle she could smell Morgana; she no longer wore the scent of the flowers always pressed into her soap, but the very light smell of body odor was not as unpleasant as it should have been. Smelling it made something tug in the pit of Gwen's stomach – the urge to move closer was ridiculously strong.

Nonsense, she thought. Morgana smells like the drunkard she was last night. Inappropriate advances are never tolerable, but would be unconscionable with Morgana in such a state..

Still, she did take a step forward, moving her fingers in circles but also bowing her head to breathe deeply.

"What are you doing?" Morgana said sharply.

Gwen nearly stumbled backwards. "I – I am massaging your temples, as you directed me to."

"You're breathing strangely." Morgana sounded suspicious, petulant – almost like a child, Gwen thought with amazement. "Are you smelling me?"

Gwen stuttered out something that could have been agreement or negation or a plea for a new dress – it was unusually incomprehensible even for her. But instead of slapping her, or berating her, Morgana just said plaintively, "I know I smell. When the damned maids arrive with water it won't be a problem anymore."

"You do smell," Gwen forced herself to say, "but not...not terribly."

Morgana didn't answer and Gwen was preparing to find a way to leave the room as soon as possible when a knock sounded on the door.

"Water for Lady Morgana's bath," the maid on the other side said.

Gwen, relieved, moved to open the door. A dozen maids, all carrying enormous basins, filed into the room. One by one they dumped their water into the bath, and one by one they filed out, leaving Gwen alone once more with Morgana's frowning face and nightgown still stretched over her knees.

"You'll need to stand up, my lady," Gwen said.

"Don't call me that," Morgana snapped, and stood.

Despite her ire, she didn't move when Gwen unlaced her sleeping gown and guided her over to the bath. She didn't avert her eyes – that would have been impossible – but she ignored her body's response, ignored how much she wanted to touch Morgana's long, smooth limbs, how gorgeous her breasts were free of the corsets and binding they were normally in.

God, it was difficult to do; she could hardly make herself stop noticing how much she wanted. But she had to, if only because otherwise she might be dismissed, a prospect that was far too bleak to even be seriously considered. "Your bath, my lady."

"You have so many ways to tell me to move faster. I wonder at your temerity, sometimes."

"You have been witness to many of my indiscretions and missteps as a serving maid," Gwen said instead of answering directly.

"I suppose." Morgana sank down into the bath, closing her eyes. "It feels so lovely. I was such a fool, drinking that much wine. You realize you have my full permission to cut me off when I do such things, do you not?"

Gwen couldn't help but smile, even as she rubbed soap over a rag. "Yes. But my lady, you seemed quite content to continue drinking."

"You're an absolutely awful person," Morgana said, and lifted an arm for Gwen to wash.

It hardly signified what thoughts ran through Gwen's head as she rubbed the soap over Morgana's arms, neck, breasts. She wanted with an acuteness that surprised even her; she was far more accustomed to Morgana giving voice to foolish desires, and Gwen herself having to curb those wishes.

There was no one to tell her the desire that flickered across her mind was wrong. No one except herself, anyway, and she was proving to be a terrible moderator of her own behavior.

"Are you happy?"

Gwen's hand stopped on Morgana's leg, the cloth dripping soapy water into the tub. "Pardon?"

"Are you happy here? With me, I mean," Morgana said.

"I don't..." Gwen shook her head. She could scarcely remember a time when she thought her future would be to marry a nice young man who could take over her father's forge, when her highest aspiration was to raise well-behaved children and keep a clean, tidy house. "Of course I am. It's not what I expected my life would be, but I'm happy with it."

"With me."

"With you," Gwen said. And oh, damn it all: her hand was shaking a little, betraying the strong emotions coursing through her. "You know I consider you a friend, Morgana. One of my closest."

"Yes." And was she imagining it, or was that smugness in Morgana's voice? "I don't intend to let you go, you know. If you're happy."

The relief she felt was shameful. "You hardly could," she said, forcing her voice to be teasing. "You'd get into dreadful scrapes, were it not for me."

After a brief, almost unnoticeable pause, Morgana laughed. "That I would," she aid, leaning back against Gwen the slightest amount. "That I would."

||

The rest of the day was as quiet and slow-moving as Gwen had predicted. The nobles all felt the aftereffects of a night of intensive imbibing, and the servants had absolutely no desire to attempt to stir them from their stupor. By nightfall, Morgana had fallen asleep again, leaving Gwen free to go down to the kitchens.

She ran into Merlin halfway there – literally. "Oh, dear. My apologies," Merlin stammered.

Gwen held up a hand. "Don't worry," she said. "I've already forgotten it. Is Arthur asleep too?"

Merlin nodded, wrinkling his nose. "The great lummox had the nerve to berate me for allowing him to drink too much. Me! When he would have killed his own father for another glass, towards the end."

Gwen bit back a far too sharp response about the number of people who'd like to kill Uther. Acting paranoid about that sort of thing would only bring suspicion upon Morgana. "Morgana was similar," she said. "She never does know when to stop. With wine, of course, but other things too."

Merlin glanced at her and turned, beginning to walk towards the kitchens again. Gwen kept abreast, even as he said, "You sound fond."

"Of Morgana?" They turned a corner and began walking up a flight of stairs. "I suppose I am. I've served her for quite some time."

"I wish I could feel that way about Arthur."

"You worry about him, don't you?" They reached the top of the stairs and turned, opening a small side door and setting down the narrow hallway it revealed.

"I suppose. But mostly because I can't let him get killed, as he's the Crown Prince and the King would have my head."

"I've been led to think your camaraderie extended beyond such practical concerns," Gwen said carefully.

"Rumors aren't always accurate. Why, if they were, your relationship with Morgana would hardly be one I could discuss with you."

Gwen was not ignorant of the rumors about which Merlin spoke, but she also was not ignorant of what people sounded like when they probed for information. "They are false," she snapped. "Can you say the same about the rumors surrounding yourself and Arthur?"

"Well, we aren't magically bonded," Merlin said. It was an attempt at humor, but his voice shook and fell flat.

"Then what are you?" Gwen pushed.

The hallwy curved and then they were just a few feet from the kitchens. Light poured out through the doorways, and the chaotic sounds of dozens of servants making merry reached their ears.

"I care about him," Merlin said finally. "A great deal more than I was expecting."

Gwen thought of the look on Morgana's face when Gwen brought her flowers. "I understand. It's much the same with me."

"We should be careful, then," Merlin said.

"Absolutely." Gwen swallowed. "I shall display no patience for rumors about you two."

"Nor shall I, for you." Merlin smiled crookedly. "Or at least, no more than is unavoidable."

"Shall we go in, then?" Gwen said, and offered Merlin her arm.

He took it, of course. He was a good sort with jokes. "Absolutely."

They were higher in rank than most of the other servants, and their near-friendships with those they served set them apart even more than simple rank. They were greeted warmly, but for some time were otherwise ignored. The kitchen was comfortable even taking their standoffish attitude into account, however; two cheerfully crackling fires kept the room warm and intimately lit, and rough-hewn tables and chairs were all over, ensuring the numerous servants had spots to sit, stand, and lean. Even the bundles of herbs hanging from the ceiling had a homelike quality to them.

And fortunately, ale was flowing freely: within the hour, the other servants had begun speaking more freely to Gwen and Merlin. After two hours, no difference in their treatment was detectable.

"You're quite clever, you know," a small woman told Gwen solemnly. She was quite short, and her skin was darker than Gwen's. "The Lady Morgana has such respect for you. You'll never need to seek out another post."

Gwen's first instinct was to respond with anger, because who did the woman think she was, insinuating that Gwen's friendship with Morgana was – what? Some sort of sham, or joke? A reflection of nothing more than Gwen's determination to retain her social status? But then she realized that this was the perfect opportunity to deflect those rumors Merlin had spoken of so insistently. "Oh, quite," she said airily. "She's so troublesome, you know, but she pays so very well. And she's desperate for friends. I'm quite happy to oblige."

It was the perfect thing to say: the girl laughed, a little mean-spiritedly, and someone else passed Gwen another tankard of ale. Gwen ignored the strange twisting in her stomach, the twinge of pain that felt a lot like an attacking conscience. Guilt had no place here, not really.

The rest of the night was spent making merry. Gwen didn't think twice about it until Morgana summoned her the next morning.

Her face was pale and drawn. "My lady," Gwen said, shocked. "What's happened?"

"You know I'd prefer you didn't address me as such, Gwen," Morgana said quietly. She stared down at her hands. "I looked for you last night."

Gwen frowned. "I was in the kitchens. Did you send someone to my room?"

"I looked," Morgana said. "With a mirror and a bit of water."

Oh. Oh. "I...see," Gwen said.

Morgana nodded. "And I did not find you. What were you doing in the kitchens, precisely?"

"Just drinking with the other servants," Gwen said. The words sounded false on her tongue; they were not lies, but they were also not the full truth, because they hid the things Gwen had said about Morgana. Not that she wanted Morgana to find out about that; on the contrary, she fervently hoped Morgana never discovered the truth. But guilt weighed heavily in her mind.

"I see," Morgana said.

Gwen let the silence stretch out, longer and longer, because she knew perfectly well that Morgana was not telling her the full truth of why she looked so awful. Long experience had taught her that Morgana would be more forthcoming if she did not feel herself forced.

Sure enough, a few moments later Morgana sighed. "And I had nightmares, of course."

"Oh?"

"I don't want to see blood on my hands," Morgana said in a rush. It sounded a lot like a confession. "Gwen, I dream things and they come true, I've dreamed - I don't want to see blood on my hands."

It was torn out of her, raw and painful-sounding, and Gwen could do nothing but take a step forward – and then another, catching Morgana's hands and pressing them together, surrounding them with her own. Morgana's skin was soft, so soft; Gwen never got used to touching it, not when her own skin was marred with callouses and scars. Even the small callouses Morgana had from swordplay were softer than Gwen's callouses.

"It won't," Gwen said finally, so quietly it sounded more like a lover's endearment than reassurance.

Morgana closed her eyes and swayed forward, ever so slightly. "Tell me again," she said hoarsely. "Please."

"It won't come to pass," Gwen said. And then, simply because it felt right, she pressed Morgana's hands to her heart. "I swear it."

It was obviously she was giving in to a repeatedly explored fear when she said, "But you're just a serving girl."

"I'm yours," Gwen said, because it was true and she was not overfond of mincing words. "It will not come to pass. I won't let it."

Morgana's entire frame relaxed and she let out a quick, soft sigh. "You're blessed," she said, falling forward so that her forehead rested on Gwen's shoulder. "I don't know who by, or how. But you are. Surely you must be."

Gwen felt as though her heart were beating double-time. Her palms were sweating and, God help her, she wanted nothing more than to push Morgana back on her bed and take the shift whose laces she knew so well right off.

It was forbidden. Moreover, it was stupid, and given the circumstances would hardly be comforting. "I'm going to draw you a bath," Gwen said, pulling back. "It will clear your head. Uther will require your presence today, after all."

Morgana groaned. "So practical, my Gwen. It's rather horrifying."

And there was that annoying little feeling, the thrill that went straight down to her toes. Gwen smacked it down sternly and went to call for hot water. It was for the best, really, that she ignore the feelings Morgana's possessiveness evoked. Morgana was simply distraught; she couldn't possibly know what she was doing.

"Thank you, my Gwen," Morgana said sweetly when the bath was finally full.

Gwen gritted her teeth and stared straight ahead.

||

Life continued; it was annoying like that. Morgana continued to work on her scrying skills, both when Gwen was with her and when she wasn't. Gwen was always careful to administer stern admonitions when Morgana overworked herself and ended up with a headache, or throwing up in a basin; Morgana reacted to this increased attention by sweetly referring to her as "my Gwen", and staunchly refusing to see anything wrong with it, all while honing her power at a distressing speed.

Really, Gwen rather wanted to throw herself out a window. She had made more than one anti-suicide pact with Merlin, however, and if Prince Arthur hadn't driven Merlin insane enough to make him break it then Gwen was hardly going to sully Morgana's good name by giving in to her own urges. No one in the kingdom would believe Arthur the better master so long as Gwen had breath in her body.

And things were calm, mostly, with only a few exceptions, until the day came that Morgana shut her bedroom door behind Gwen and said, "I want to take your clothes off."

Gwen blinked. Then, just to be certain she was not having a discomfiting dream, she did it again. "I'm sorry?"

"Not all at once, of course," Morgana said. "And not in an inappropriate way, understand. I just need something to practice on."

Gwen shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I haven't the slightest – "

Morgana waved a royal, dismissive hand – and Gwen's hair ribbon fell to the ground.

"...idea," Gwen croaked, "what you mean. I. Morgana?"

"I can scry now," Morgana said, tilting her chin up. "Or, well. I can scry well enough. Better than I could before, at any rate."

"And so now, naturally, you want to move on to undressing servant girls."

"Don't be ridiculous," Morgana said. "Only you."

Gwen turned bright red and only managed a bit of a croak.

"Gwen," Morgana said with an exaggerated pretense of patience, "I just want someone to practice on. Someone I can trust."

Feeling disappointment was absolutely insane, Gwen told herself firmly. "I see. And so your maidservant is the natural choice."

Morgana's wide smile was absolutely heartbreaking. "Precisely."

Gwen was trying to find a kind, non-combative way to express her worry that Morgana was actually insane when someone rapped on Morgana's door.

"Enter," Morgana called.

Merlin poked his head in. "Oh, hello. Your hair's down," he told Gwen.

Morgana sighed. "Merlin. What is it?"

"Right. Oh. There's a bit of a problem," Merlin said, pushing the door open all the way and standing with slouched posture, staring at a point on the wall beyond both Morgana and Gwen.

"Which is?" Morgana said.

"A village on the edge of Camelot seems to have turned into swine. Well, mostly. There's five humans left."

Gwen could not summon words to describe her surprise; judging by the silence, neither could Morgana.

"And naturally," Merlin said brightly, "Uther has declared Arthur shall travel to the scene of the, ah, swine crime, and find whoever worked the magic."

"Uther's decision-making remains superlative," Morgana said. Her voice was so sweetly sarcastic that Gwen barely managed not to laugh.

"Right, well, you're to come too," Merlin said. "Something about women's magic taming the wild beast. I think Uther just wants to be rid of us."

Gwen was facing Morgana, which was why she noticed that Morgana suddenly became very, very still. "I see."

Merlin, completely oblivious, said, "It was Arthur's idea. I think he's just angry that you can handle a sword and he didn't realize you'd ever been learning."

Thank any and all of the gods. Gwen unclenched hands she hadn't even realized were fisted.

"Arthur is as vindictive a child as ever," Morgana said. "Well, I'll go, of course. Gwen! Pack a trunk. I'm sure you know which clothes to include."

She loved giving Gwen orders like that in front of other people, ones that underscored Gwen's role as Morgana's closest servant and made it explicitly clear how well Gwen knew her. Gwen didn't understand it – but she busied herself pulling out a trunk anyway.

"And you," Morgana said, "may tell Arthur that I'm positively delighted. Do not mention any questioning of his motives on our part. I'm sure the prince is every bit as wise as he's meant to be."

"I really should have saved your life," Merlin said, and shut the door on Gwen's glare.

"What does he mean?"

"He'd rather be your manservant than Arthur's." Gwen folded a simple hunting dress and rolled her eyes with disdain. "As if he could possibly be assigned to the position I've got."

"Jealous, are you?" Morgana said, moving to the window seat and picking up her embroidery.

She probably had a dozen things to do, knowing they were leaving – but of course she chose to keep Gwen company. "Not at all," Gwen said. "Do you need an extra cloak, my lady?"

"Saying yes would be admitting I think we'll be in the wretched village for long," Morgana said, stabbing her embroidery rather viciously. "So no."

"It's all so utterly stupid," Gwen said. "I don't suppose you've seen anything about this?"

"As though my visions appear neatly and on demand."

"You know I don't think that."

"I do." Morgana sighed. "No. And I don't know what it says about my developing...talent...that it worries me. I'm starting to count on them – trust them."

Blood on her hands. Gwen shook her head decisively. "They're not exact, you said so yourself. This is just an aberration. Probably just not important enough for your magic to bother itself with."

"My magic." Morgana's laugh was more of a bark. "God, Uther will have my head."

It wasn't actually a prophecy, but that didn't change the fact that it was coming from a prophetess. Gwen shivered. "Don't say that."

"I won't make you hit me by questioning your caring," Morgana said, "but you know that's not a – "

"I do, but thinking of you dead is absolutely horrible. Don't make me," Gwen said, more harshly than she'd meant to.

For a second they both went very still, and Morgana stared at Gwen. Gwen felt herself turn bright red. "I'm sorry," she said hastily. "I just...I'm sorry. That was a stupid thing to say."

"You're my servant," Morgana said.

Gwen felt inexplicably pinned down, incapable of breaking the sudden tension. Sitting in the window seat, with the sun making her hair shine and her skin look nearly translucent, Morgana looked like an unearthly vision. Like one of the fae, or a Druid: someone who could command Gwen even more readily than Morgana already did. "I am."

"And I am your...mistress," Morgana said.

That word, that wretched word. It sounded so different shaped by Morgana's mouth. "You are."

"I'm yours, in a way."

In a horrible lopsided way that didn't even remotely resemble the reality Gwen pathetically, desperately wanted. "I suppose."

Morgana glanced down at her embroidery, then looked up again, pursing her lips. "Then it wasn't stupid," she said finally. Her voice lacked all of the sarcastic sweetness it usually did when she said something so sentimental.

Gwen felt rather as though someone had just pulled the entire floor out from under her. "Oh."

"Not that I'd advise your saying it in front of court, of course," Morgana said. "But we are friends, are we not? The best of friends, even. That is no trifle."

Trust Morgana to pick this exact moment to drop all her courtly airs in favor of being positively wonderful. Gwen's heart twisted. "No, it isn't."

"So finish my trunk, and we will sit together for a spell," Morgana said. "You've been rather far away from me, as of late. We should fix that."

And suddenly Gwen could allow herself to move again. She consequently obeyed with remarkable alacrity, even for her.

||

For the ride to the swine-village Gwen was given a horse even more sedate than the one Arthur jeeringly had Merlin ride. The entire party was shockingly young; Gwen didn't think a single person was a day over thirty. She had been at Camelot long enough to understand, a bit, how momentous Arthur's reign could very well be. The new court was young, the old court old; middle ground barely existed for Camelot right now.

She tried not to think of how she and Morgana would fit into it. Every day now she was more and more afraid for Morgana; the trip had inevitably led to them sleeping in the same tent, and for the first time she truly understood just how often Morgana's nightmares forced her awake..

They'd grown more violent as her skill with scrying increased, too. "It's a price I'll happily pay for being able to control the magic," Morgana said airily – but her fear could not be dismissed as easily late at night, when Gwen was the only person to comfort her.

The comforting itself was taking on what was, to Gwen, a profoundly disturbing pattern. She often woke before Morgana did, and moved to Morgana's side to shake her awake. The last time it had happened, Morgana had been crying and soaked in sweat; "What a mess I am," she'd said, pushing wet hair matted against her forehead out of the way.

"Don't say that," Gwen had said. "You've not yet lost your sanity. Others would call that admirable."

Morgana had sagged against her. Gwen had done her best to provide support, her stomach twisting at the way Morgana's breath brushed against her cheek, her soft form heavy against Gwen's chest. "And you?"

"If I didn't think you admirable," Gwen had said steadily, "I wouldn't be here."

Morgana had been silent after that, and had eventually fallen asleep.

Still, despite her nightmares, she was awake at dawn every day. Gwen was too, of course; it was part of her duties as Morgana's maid. But instead of emptying the chamber pot and cleaning Morgana's chambers, it was now Gwen's responsibility to walk with Morgana a mile away from the camp and practice magic.

Morgana was still practicing scrying; just two days before she'd seen a river a full day's ride from where they'd made camp. But she was also practicing moving things – namely, Gwen's clothing.

It was harmless, mostly. Morgana did it partly as a joke, Gwen knew. And it would have been funny, had Gwen's innards not clenched up every time she saw the smooth curves of Morgana's breasts. It would have been absolutely hilarious, had watching Morgana bathe in a stream not made Gwen wet and aching.

As it was, well. It could have been worse. Gwen remembered being five and her mother dying and her father desperately trying and failing to find enough work to keep them fed. That kind of clawing, desperate grief and hunger made this ridiculous pining pale in comparison. It was relatively easy to keep her chin up, provided she reminded herself that she'd survived far worse, and would continue to endure this.

But that didn't mean she never had weak moments. Two days outside the swine village she slipped away after she'd finished her duties, finding a corner of the forest to sit down and put her head in her hands in. It was all going rather well – she was processing everything slowly, not even crying while she did it – until Morgana said quietly, "I saw this last night. In a dream."

Gwen forced herself to look up. "Pardon?"

"You. Alone and sad." Morgana took a step forward. Something was present in her posture, her movements – it was achingly familiar but also utterly foreign on Morgana, and for her life Gwen couldn't say for sure what it was.

Then Morgana knelt, and suddenly Gwen recognized it: hesitance. Fear. "My dreams never show me what I do with you," Morgana said. "I've seen myself alone, but when you're involved...I never know for sure."

Gwen swallowed hard. "That doesn't even make sense."

"No," Morgana said without elaborating.

"I'm scared," Gwen said. "Of the future. Of you."

"Don't be." Morgana reached out, took Gwen's hands with her own. "Don't be, Gwen."

It was so stupid, Gwen thought, looking down at their joined hands. Her lady was kneeling on the forest floor, dirt getting all over her dress, leaves stuck in her hair. And she had no idea why she was doing it, really; the fear she thought she saw written on Gwen's face was nothing like the fear Gwen carried in her heart. Of the two of them, Gwen understood them both; Morgana couldn't possibly understand what she was asking, what she was giving.

And so it was Gwen who had to put a stop to it. "You should spar with Arthur," she said, forcing her voice to be steady.

Morgana blinked at her. "What?"

"I just think he'd like it." Gwen shrugged. "He complains about lack of practice."

"Arthur would kill me," Morgana said. "I mean, quite literally. I'm nowhere near his level."

"Practice is one way to fix that," Gwen said. "And for him it'll be a change from his knights."

Morgana narrowed her eyes. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing. You're dangling sparring with Arthur in front of me like a carrot, to distract me from whatever brought you out here all alone."

Gwen was far from the only servant who'd had the same mistress for over half a decade. She was, however, one of the only ones whose lady knew her as well as she knew her lady. "Well. Yes."

"I'll let it drop for now," Morgana said, standing. "Not because of the prospect of sparring with Arthur – I'd thought of it before now, I'll have you know – but because I know you'll tell me in time. You don't keep secrets from me."

It was said with such brazen, ridiculous confidence. If you only knew, Gwen thought helplessly.

Aloud, she said only, "I said it for my own amusement, my lady. Arthur's face will surely be a treat when you finally beat him."

"Hah!" Morgana said. "If you live long enough, perhaps you'll see the day that happens."

But she led them out of the forest with a small, satisfied smile planted firmly in place.

||

"This was your idea," Merlin said, moving to stand next to her on the edge of the empty circle cleared for Morgana and Arthur.

"No," Gwen said. "Though I'll admit I gave voice to it."

"You're a bloody horrible person," Merlin said. His tone was filled with nothing but admiration.

He didn't even know the half of it. Gwen could scarcely take her eyes off Morgana; her movements were liquid, more graceful than the best dance Morgana had ever committed herself too. She was angry, too, and it showed; the air was tense around both her and Arthur, practically sparking. They moved more and more quickly, and Arthur was better, it was obvious, but Morgana -

Morgana was tenacious and, in some ways, had more to lose than Arthur. She did not belong, after all, and Arthur was in his element, with supporters all around them. Desperation made Morgana hold her own, even against Arthur's increasing onslaught.

It was amazing to watch. Beautiful. Gwen glanced to the side and saw that Merlin was equally entranced, staring at Arthur, and -

Merlin's physical recoil told her to look back at Morgana and Arthur. Arthur was lying on the ground, and Morgana was kneeling on him, laughing in triumph with the wooden practice sword flush against Arthur's neck, and Arthur looked furious.

"I'm going to kill him," Merlin all but snarled.

And Gwen knew that tone, and the emotion behind it. She knew it intimately, and shared it, her face flushing and her hands shaking with the urge to pull Morgana off Arthur and do something desperate – possibly strangle her.

That feeling was jealousy, pure and simple.

Well, she thought, watching Merlin all but turn green – well, at least she wasn't the only one.

"That's enough, my lady," she said, marching into the clearing.

Morgana's laugh cut off abruptly. "Gwen?"

"Come with me, please. You'll need to clean up before it's time for your evening meal." She turned on her heel and left, trying to seem confident that Morgana would follow.

And miracle of all miracles, she did. "Gwen," she said as Gwen entered their tent, "what's wrong? I thought – it was your suggestion. I rather assumed it wouldn't make you angry."

She sounded almost child-like, and when Gwen turned to look at her, she looked it too: small and lost, and rather thoroughly scolded. "I'm not," she said, but she couldn't finish it, couldn't say I'm not angry. Because she was, God help her. "I'm sorry," she said finally, in clipped tones. "I've laid out another dress for you."

"Thank you," Morgana said, and allowed herself to be un- and then re-dressed, completely pliant.

It was strange enough that Gwen finally sighed and said, "I'm not angry at you, truly. I'm just...confused. But not angry."

"I did well against him," Morgana said, a bit of her old spark returning to her posture, her voice. "Don't you think? I was quite impressive."

"You were," Gwen said, sternly repressing the bitterness that threatened to poison her tone. "Congratulations."

Morgana turned abruptly, mouth caught between a smile and words. But she was too close, and they inhaled sharply at exactly the same time, their lips just inches apart.

"Dinner," Gwen forced herself to say, taking a step backwards.

Morgana's lips twisted, her expression falling back to unhappiness. "Dinner," she said. "Right. Thank you."

Gwen felt stupidly, overwhelmingly lonely when Morgana left the tent.

||

It was their last night before they reached the swine village. Gwen had half a mind to find another place to sleep; there weren't many spots where she'd be guaranteed freedom from one of Uther's knight's drunken advances, but she knew she'd be able to find someplace relatively safe.

Except when Morgana lay down, her hair combed out and that stupid soft nightgown swathing her body, she said, "Will you lie with me?"

Gwen blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"The nightmares..." Morgana leaned back against her pillow, skin flushing delicately. "I just thought some company might help ward them off."

"I'm not sure that's logical, my lady," Gwen said stiffly. Every bit of her body was contradicting her, clamoring to lie down next to Morgana, share her heat and inhale that odd scent of hers. That alone was proof it was a horrible idea.

"Perhaps not, but I still desire it," Morgana said.

Coming from anyone else, that would have sounded petulant. From Morgana it just sounded horribly, deliciously commanding. "Yes, my lady," Gwen said, and lay down next to her, on top of the heavy wool blanket Morgana was tucked under.

"Must you be absurd? Get out of that filthy dress and under the covers."

Later, Gwen would flush and say defensively that she'd obeyed because it was the first time Morgana had sounded properly commanding in months, and she'd hardly had the stomach to be contradictory. Once she had obeyed, however, nothing interesting happened. Morgana simply rolled over and closed her eyes, and within a few minutes she was asleep without so much as a by-your-leave.

The anticlimactic nature of that night was made up for, however, when Morgana woke screaming in the grey light of near-dawn the next morning.

"Morgana!" Gwen said, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her hard. It didn't help; she kept screaming. "Damn it," Gwen said, and shook her still harder. "Morgana! Wake up."

Still nothing, though the screams were dying down to whimpers. Unacceptable, Gwen thought, and placed her hands on either side of Morgana's face, cupping her cheeks. "Morgana. Wake up."

She wasn't really expecting anything, so it was a bit of a shock when Morgana opened her eyes. "Gwen?"

"Finally," Gwen said. "It's not quite dawn, my lady. You were dreaming."

"Gwen," Morgana said again. She sounded a little broken.

Refusing to let it scare her, Gwen pulled her into a strange, horizontal hug. "That is my name, yes."

"Gwen," Morgana said, a whisper this time. She wrapped her arms around Gwen, clinging.

It was so fully ridiculous that Gwen almost wanted to cry. "Yes," she said, and rubbed calming circles on Morgana's back. "Yes."

She wasn't really surprised when Morgana fell back asleep a few minutes later. Gwen closed her eyes as well, but it was hardly worthwhile; her duties began precisely at dawn, whether or not Morgana rose with her.

An hour later she shook off the half-sleep she'd been in and rose to empty the chamber pot. She had to carry it out past camp; when she returned, Morgana was sitting up in the tent, blanket around her shoulders.

"My lady, you can sleep more," Gwen said. "We won't be leaving for quite some time yet."

"The sleep would hardly be refreshing," Morgana said. "I don't suppose you're curious about what I dreamed about?"

"Whether or not you tell me is a decision I leave to your discretion," Gwen said.

"Earlier I did dream of blood on my hands. Again."

"I'm sorry to hear that, my lady."

"And I as well." Morgana sighed. "Later...well. I should practice scrying again."

"Today? We'll be moving into the village. There will be problems enough to contend with." Gwen held out Morgana's dress. "Perhaps you should wait."

"This bloody magic is the reason I can hardly ever sleep. It's controlling me." Morgana unlaced her nightgown, stepping out of it and into the dress Gwen held. "I need to gain control over it so that no longer happens."

"You'll be quite powerful when you do, won't you?"

"Powerful enough to hurt people." Morgana sighed. "I'm sorry. I don't pay you to listen to me whine about the future I've seen."

The emotion that went through Gwen was so strong it almost took her breath away; a curious mixture of fury, jealousy, and worry, it made her stomach roll. "Never say that," she said fiercely.

Morgana looked at her, eyes wide in surprise. "Gwen?"

"Never," Gwen snapped. "Do you think I would have stayed here if I didn't care? Do you think I'd have guarded you, talked to you? Do you – fie, Morgana, do you think I would have slept in your bed, if I was a proper ladies' maid who didn't care about you at all?"

"What exactly are you saying?" Morgana said, voice high.

Gwen reviewed what she'd said. It was rather more revelatory than she'd planned. "I'm saying," she said finally, "that I can do nothing but be the best friend possible, no matter the coin you pay me."

Morgana stared at her for a long moment before finally nodding, placing her hands on Gwen's shoulders. "I will practice tonight, once we're settled in the village."

"Hopefully finding the sorcerers won't take long," Gwen said.

"It at least won't be our responsibility." Morgana tucked a stray hair behind Gwen's ear. "And tomorrow we will do something that's related neither to magic nor traveling. You have my oath."

Morgana didn't give her word lightly. "Thank you," Gwen said.

"And you," Morgana said. "Now, let us inform Arthur of our readiness."

They did so, and the rest of the day proceeded apace. The village truly was abandoned, and rather frightening besides; Gwen spent a few hours bringing everything into the hut she and Morgana were to share and then airing the hut itself out while Morgana talked with one of the few human villagers, trying to suss out exactly what had happened.

Night had long since fallen when Morgana returned to the hut. "Oh, thank god. I'm too tired to practice anything, I think."

Silently, Gwen thanked all the fates. She did not want to have her hair ribbons or apron strings played with by an invisible force, not tonight. "Tomorrow, then," she said, taking Morgana's cloak off. "Right now, you should get as much sleep as possible."

"You're practically my nursemaid," Morgana said, sitting on the thin pallet.

"Hardly." Gwen knelt and unlaced one of Morgana's boots. "I'm just -" She looked up, and suddenly she couldn't say anything else.

Morgana was looking down at her, expression soft. Gwen became suddenly, painfully aware of her position right now, of how easy it would be to push Morgana's thighs apart and just...touch.

"That will be enough, Gwen," Morgana said quietly, lifting her legs and lying down on the cot.

"I – thank you," Gwen said, and stumbled to the other end of the too-tiny hut, lying down on her own blanket with her head still reeling.

Morgana fell asleep quickly. Gwen lay awake for a time, terrified of dreams that would impel Morgana to ask Gwen to share her bed – or was she anticipatory? Either way, it was a base desire that Gwen knew she ought to be ashamed of. And truly she was ashamed, largely because she knew how foolish it was to desire something so close to, yet impossibly far from, what she truly wanted of Morgana.

But nothing happened that night. Gwen fell asleep eventually and woke at dawn to a quiet hut. Morgana slept all through Gwen's usual morning chores, not even stirring until Gwen laid a hand on her shoulder and said quietly, "Morgana, it's morning."

She then shifted a little, frowning and mumbling. "Gwen?"

"Morgana," Gwen said, a little more loudly. "It's time you woke up, my lady."

"So soft," Morgana sighed, rolling over towards Gwen.

Her nightgown revealed more than it hid, from this angle. Gwen swallowed. "Morgana! It's morning."

Finally, finally, Morgana frowned and opened her eyes. "Gwen? Was I asleep?"

"For quite some time," Gwen said. "I know we're not to leave the village today, but we should see Arthur and his men off, which requires better clothing."

"And food," Morgana said. "I'm positively famished."

"And food." Gwen held up a dress. "But first we must get you in this."

Morgana gave her an odd look when she stood, almost censorious. Gwen wanted, irrationally, to say something defensive; her dress was rather a bit too tight and threadbare, but she hadn't had time to have another made, though her wages ensured that she had the funds. But when she met Morgana's gaze, Morgana looked away without saying anything. Replying to unspoken criticism would just seem crazy. "Here, my lady," she said, and pulled the dress up over Morgana's hips.

They were rather close. Gwen was careful not to breathe too much until she could step back and circle round to Morgana's back, lacing up the dress and then getting the comb for her hair.

"I didn't have nightmares," Morgana said finally.

"I'd noticed," Gwen said. "Or rather, I noticed that you neither screamed nor asked me to share your bed."

Morgana's shoulders tensed so slightly Gwen wouldn't even have noticed, had she not been so close. "Sharing my bed is not a require –"

Gwen tugged Morgana's hair lightly. "I know," she said over Morgana's sharp intake of breath. "I wouldn't have done it if I didn't think it would be a bit pleasant. Warm and comforting, and all that."

"So you'd be willing to do it again?" Morgana sounded ridiculously hopeful.

But then, that same ridiculous hope rested in Gwen's breast. "Of course. Any time you need me to." And any time you want me to, she added silently. It was a terrifying

"Thank you," Morgana said, leaning back against Gwen.

"You're welcome," Gwen said quietly, and continued to comb Morgana's hair.

||

Morgana was strange for the entire rest of the day. It didn't help that the village was indeed overrun with angry pigs; normality was nearly impossible in that kind of setting. But Gwen felt almost completely certain that the glances Morgana kept flicking her, the way her touch lingered and her anger flared when a knight leered at Gwen, would have been out of place in any setting, swine or no swine.

It was jealousy, of course. Gwen wasn't stupid or ignorant. The part of her that was head over heels for Morgana didn't care about the sort of jealousy or its cause, only that it existed, that Morgana wanted Gwen for her own; that part was clamoring to confront Morgana, to kiss her and be hers in truth. She squashed that part as well as she could, not even allowing herself to intellectually consider it, much less consider how amazing it would make her feel.

Morgana was certainly jealous, that much was obvious; but what wasn't obvious, or even remotely certain, was that the jealousy was of a romantic persuasion. More likely she was just going through one of her phases where she was convinced everyone was out to steal her maidservant.

Gwen's tangled feelings were manageable until the knights came back from their search of the countryside. Merlin accidentally fell on Gwen when Arthur's horse started at a snake, and they were laughing and awkwardly joking about it when Morgana stormed up to them.

"Gwen. Merlin."

"M-Morgana," Merlin said. "How pleasant! Ah." He craned his neck to look up at Arthur, clearly desperate.

Arthur just looked cooly amused. "Morgana, you're in a bit of a snit."

"I sincerely hope you fall off your horse and break something vital. Preferably your head," Morgana said. "Gwen. Come with me."

Gwen blinked but followed; there was really nothing else she could do. When they got back to the hut, Morgana closed the door and laid the bar of wood that served as a lock over it.

"What's going on?" Gwen said, not a little warily. Sorcery was about; what if Morgana had been caught by a spell? Gwen didn't fancy dying like this. "Are you quite alright, Morgana?"

Morgana moved to the center of the hut and began pacing. "Not particularly. Something's wrong."

"Tell me," Gwen said immediately. "We'll fix it."

Morgana's laugh was more of a bark, loud and harsh. "I doubt it. You're hardly capable of handling your own...problems."

Gwen felt as though she'd been punched in the stomach. "What?"

"Do you think I hadn't noticed? You're rather disgusting." Morgana turned on her heel, interrupting the pacing to walk towards Gwen. Gwen involuntarily took a step back, eyes caught by Morgana's.

She didn't look evil or possessed. Which meant..."Morgana. Please."

Morgana took another step forward, and another, and Gwen backed up accordingly until the hut's door was behind her and she could move no further. Her entire body clamored in a panic as Morgana continued to move closer, until her body was a scant few inches from Gwen's.

"Morgana, please...what?" Morgana flicked her eyes up and down Gwen. "What do you want, Guinevere?"

Things she couldn't even put into words. "I want to know why you're doing this," Gwen forced herself to say.

Morgana's lips curled. It was almost a laugh. "I dreamed about us."

And that – oh. "You...a prophetic dream, you mean?"

"I suppose you could call it that." Morgana touched Gwen's cheek. "It was that, or it was simply my mind's own desperation clawing through. Because I realized I'd like to see it, you know. Your skirts all rucked up, your face flushed. You called me yours. 'My Morgana.'"

"I..." She couldn't think of anything to say. Because she did want that, didn't she? Keeping Morgana as hers, pressing her down and shaking off that haughty composure even she only saw drop occasionally...yes, she wanted that. But she was terrified all the same. "I'm sorry. I can't." She stepped back.

For a second Morgana's eyes narrowed and she looked utterly murderous, and all Gwen could think about was the blood Morgana had seen on her own hands and how cold Morgana had sounded when she'd confessed to nearly killing Uther. For a second, Gwen was absolutely terrified.

But then the specter of what Morgana nearly was fell away and was replaced by just Morgana, tired and a little ashamed and more standoffish than she'd ever been with Gwen. "You have my apologies, Gwen. I would never force you to do anything you didn't wish to."

Yet, Gwen thought. "Thank you, my lady."

"I should sleep." Morgana turned around and held out her arms – and her dress unlaced itself, falling in a pool about her ankles, as her nightgown lifted off the bed and moved to drape itself over one of her arms.

"Much better," Morgana said, shrugging into the nightgown. "You may put the dress away," she added, lying down on the pallet.

Gwen blinked eyes she hadn't realized had been wide open and shook herself lightly. "Right," she said. "Of course, my lady."

"Thank you," Morgana said, still strangely standoffish.

Gwen fought back the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach and hung the dress up, imitating Morgana by lying down and closing her eyes immediately after. She'd thought she would be incapable of sleeping, but she dropped off immediately.

And almost to her disappointment, the night was peaceful.

||

The revelation did not change nearly as much as Gwen would have ordinarily speculated. The next few days were horrible only because of their monotony. She was almost ready to make an offer to Morgana simply out of boredom.

Or at least, she would have been, had Morgana not been rather terrifying. She hadn't mentioned her confession since that horrible, tense night, but she continued to watch Gwen like Gwen carried a succulent duck on her bosom and Morgana was a starving woman, and when she touched Gwen, it was horribly gentle and sweet. And yet at the same time she was careful to never ask Gwen to share her bed, even when she woke with screaming nightmares; she never required Gwen's company outside her prescribed duties anymore, and she did not speak freely to Gwen as she had for the past five years.

All in all, it was utterly nerve-wracking. Knowing why Morgana had suddenly placed such distance between them meant that it wasn't also heartbreaking – after all, Morgana wanted something very much like what Gwen herself wanted – but that was a miniscule mercy.

At first she didn't realize that anyone else noticed a change. Then Merlin pulled her aside on their fourth day there to ask a question so filled with convoluted references to silk and hand-holding and such that it took Gwen nearly an entire watch shift to realize that he'd been trying to ascertain if she and Morgana were having a lover's tiff.

For heaven's sake, could no one in Camelot mind his own business?

Two more days of heated looks and cold touches passed, and then Gwen rose before dawn to go for a walk. She hadn't expected to encounter anyone; the watch was positioned a good mile away from the huts, and she was just wandering between the village's sparse buildings, stopping to admire now-overgrown flowerbeds but otherwise moving in a brisk circle to settle her thoughts.

But her expectations were utterly disrupted by Arthur appearing around the corner of the largest hut. "Hello."

"Oh! I'm sorry, Highness, I didn't hear you."

"No," Arthur said. "Listen, as a member of my staff, it's your right to refuse amorous advances you don't find to your taste."

Gwen very nearly fell over. "I – thank you?"

"Having said that," Arthur said, "I really feel it's my duty as prince of Camelot to ask you if you've gone completely insane."

Gwen thought very seriously about hitting him. The beheading probably wasn't worth it, she supposed. "I'm sorry?"

"The entire court knows you've been mooning about Morgana for years, bringing her flowers and such. I'm fairly certain even my father knows. And now she's watching you like a dog watches a steak and all you can think to do is scuttle away from her?" The prince snorted; it was amusingly reminiscent of the sound the pig that ran by them a second later made. "That sort of thing is disruptive. And we need Morgana with us on the hunt for the sorcerer. The only reason she's staying in the village is because she's pining."

It was quite the speech; it made Gwen feel completely flabbergasted, breathless and cornered. "Do you matchmake often?" she said finally.

Arthur snorted. "Only when the match is being an absolute pain in my arse."

"...right, then. I'm going to go now."

"You do that," Arthur said, and stood with arms still crossed as she turned and made her way back to her and Morgana's hut.

She'd almost screwed up enough bravery to ask Morgana for – something – when she opened the door of the hut.

Morgana was lying on the ground, clawing at her own throat.

"Morgana!" Gwen ran over and dropped to her knees, pulling Morgana's hands away from her. "Morgana, wake up!"

Morgana's body jerked and shivered, her mouth open in a silent scream. "Oh God," Gwen said. "Morgana, just -" She moved to straddle Morgana's body, holding her still and saying, over and over, "Wake up, Morgana, wake up. My lady, it's just a dream. Wake up."

And then suddenly her eyes flew open – and Gwen was literally flying across the room, pushed by an invisible force until she was flush against the plaster wall of the hut.

Morgana stared at her from her spot on the floor. "Gwen."

"Your magic's got me a bit pinned," Gwen said in response. "But it's morning."

"My..." There was that look again, the squint-eyed, suspicious, deadly look. Morgana laughed. "I see," she said, and stood. "You can't move?"

"Not a muscle," Gwen said honestly.

"Hmm." Morgana stalked towards her. It was such a stupid word to apply to a disheveled girl in a peasant's hut, stalk, but it was the only one that could describe the rolling, predatory walk Morgana had adopted. "I dreamed I saw you kissing Arthur," Morgana said, reaching out and brushing a finger over Gwen's face. "I dreamed you bedded him. Kissed him, rode him."

Gwen could no more stop the blush from moving across her cheeks than she could make herself speak.

"And I was infuriated. Blood on my hands, Guinevere." Morgana leaned in. "So I think I will steal a bit from you. Just a little, you see. Something to keep when you leave."

And so, obviously half-mad, Morgana leaned in and kissed Gwen.

Gwen knew about destiny and fate. Merlin was magic and Arthur legend and Morgana herself was a prophetess, and Gwen often felt her life tugged in this direction or that, molded to support or define or destroy whatever story it was the other three were living out. But somehow that knowledge didn't make this kiss any less earth-shaking; knowing that everyone could end in disaster couldn't stop her from shivering and pressing forward futilely, trying to touch more of Morgana, pull her closer. Keep her longer.

But in just a few minutes Morgana pulled back, licking her lips. She was breathless when she said, "There, you see? That is what I dream of."

Her magic didn't let go of Gwen until she'd long since left the hut. When it did, Gwen sank to her knees, shaking and trying to ignore it. She wasn't even – she couldn't think. She ached more than ever now, so desperate that she half wanted to lie down in Morgana's bed, pull up her skirts, and bring herself relief.

But now was not the time. For this to be anything but a tawdry push-and-pull, for this to matter, she had to wait. Morgana was clearly confused, and Gwen herself was utterly confounded. Given time to sort this out...

Given time, perhaps they'd find a new road. One that didn't involve blood on Morgana's hands or Arthur's hands on Gwen.

Gwen stood up, took a deep breath, and went to continue her work.

||

Morgana didn't mention the kiss. It was a bit of a shock to Gwen, who was expecting pushy insistence that they talk about it from Morgana, or at least some kind of acknowledgement that it had happened and wouldn't (or would, though Gwen's chest twisted to even think of hoping for it) happen again. Morgana had never been the type to just let things lie. But she didn't mention the kiss, not in the three days it took them to find the sorcerer and not after a well-thrown knife garnered her the honor of having been the one to kill the head sorcerer. She certainly didn't mention it on the journey back to Camelot. And if she had nightmares – or dreams of Gwen – she kept it to herself.

It was profoundly disturbing, Gwen thought. She'd never been so far from Morgana before, and they were sleeping in the same room every night.

It wasn't until their third day back in Camelot that Morgana summoned Gwen to her room late at night. She was sitting in an elaborately upholstered chair in the center of the room. Firelight flickered on her hair, and the beading on her dress shimmered. The dress itself was dark red, multi-layered, with floaty bits that almost reflected the light and velvet that caught it and drew it in, making it seem somehow brighter and darker at the same time. Her breasts swelled over the fabric; her hands were pale and impossibly slim in her lap.

"Gwen," she said cooly.

"Morga – my lady." Gwen bobbed a curtsey. "Was something about my performance tonight inadequate?"

"You know almost nothing of my dreams." Morgana raised her left eyebrow. "Are you not curious? Be honest, now. I'll know if you're not."

Gwen wasn't sure that was the truth, but she closed her eyes briefly and gave in to the inevitable anyway. "Yes."

"I haven't dreamed about touching you. I don't know if that means the path we're on will ensure that never happens."

Something tugged in the pit of Gwen's stomach, silly and desperate.

"You hope not." Morgana sounded amused. "That's gratifying, I suppose."

"I can't," Gwen said. "I can't – please let me go."

"I do, however, dream about killing people. Hurting them." Morgana sighed. "It's tiresome, for more than one reason."

Part of Gwen desperately wanted to cry. Instead she kept her chin up. "Unless you plan to make me the first person you kill, right now, I'm not sure how it signifies. My lady."

Was it her imagination, or did Morgana flinch? "Perhaps I just wanted to talk the future over with you."

"You're dressed up," Gwen said. "This is important. Did you want to tempt me, or scare me?"

For a second she thought her bluff had failed, and that it was neither. But then Morgana tilted her head and said, "A bit of both, I think. Come closer."

Gwen took two steps forward. "Tell me about the dreams," she said as commandingly as she could.

"I kill Uther." Morgana smiled sharply. "Not for you, though it's always quite pleasant anyway."

"He's like a father to you."

"Fathers can be tiresome." Morgana just barely shifted, and then a knife was in her hand. "I cut a swathe through Camelot when I escape. I leave you behind – on Arthur's arm, or fluttering your eyelashes at that Lancelot character."

She'd had time to adjust herself to the idea of marrying Arthur, but it still caused a jolt of disbelief to run through her. "And what do you do then?"

"Then I stay in a castle, old and mouldering, treating with the Druids and learning magic to turn blood to ice, peel skin from bone." Morgana was definitely paler now, and Gwen wanted nothing so much as to reach out and pull her close. No, she told herself. No. Not yet, anyway. Kissing Morgana wouldn't chase the demons away, no matter how much she wished it could.

"And do you die like that?" Gwen said.

"Sometimes," Morgana said. "Sometimes I ride into battle against Camelot and spit you on my spear. Sometimes I walk into the Lake and disappear from this world, enveloped by the water."

The enormity of what she was saying didn't escape Gwen. She couldn't imagine it, being buffeted on all sides with visions of a horror she couldn't fix. She couldn't fathom having a destiny so huge that all she could do was bow her head and go along with it.

But she had been afraid before, and she remembered with aching clarity how it had felt to have Morgana stand strong and declare Gwen's father would not die. She remembered how grateful she'd been to have someone to lean on when her entire world seemed to be crumbling. And it was that remembrance that made her take another step forward, and another, until the tip of Morgana's knife was pressing into her belly.

"You should put it down," Gwen said.

Morgana's hand didn't even waver. "And if I don't?"

Gwen shrugged. "I don't believe you'll kill me," she said honestly. "But I suppose we'll find out."

Morgana pressed the knife just a little further, and for a heart-wrenching second Gwen was terrified that she'd been wrong, that Morgana had gone mad far earlier than either of them had expected.

But then she moved forward, lowering her head and letting the knife drop to the ground. "I don't know what I'm doing," she said in a low voice.

Gwen cupped a hand at the nape of Morgana's neck and pressed her close, hugging her as best as she could. "It's okay," she said, wishing desperately that she could believe it. "We'll fix this. It's okay."

They stayed like that, completely silent, for more minutes than Gwen really would have preferred. Finally Morgana gave a little choked laugh, her face still pressed against Gwen's skirts. "I've been such a fool."

"I did wonder what you were on about, with the knife and all," Gwen admitted.

"I will be evil someday." Morgana sighed. It was a wistful, liquid sound. "I could be, anyway. But I'm not right now."

"No." Gwen stroked her hair.

"But I did kiss you. Do you think that changed our futures?"

Gwen, who was generally more perceptive than even Morgana thought, understood what Morgana was really asking. "I think it was important enough to."

More silence, and then Morgana said in a tiny voice, "I don't want to be a murderer."

Gwen thought of the anger she remembered from Morgana's attempt to kill Uther. That cold, single-minded determination that she was right was closer to Uther than any attitude Arthur had ever shown the world; Morgana might be feeling sheepish now, but they weren't in the clear and wouldn't be for a long time. "I don't want you to be, either."

"But I could be." Morgana stood and looked down at Gwen. "Promise me you'll keep me in line."

Gwen swallowed. She'd been hoping, fool that she was, for another kiss – or at least some small token of meaning, something to tell her she was important to Morgana.

It was stupid to hope for that sort of thing. Sex wouldn't fix anything between them. "In line?"

"If you see me acting – foolishly, or like Uther. Tell me?"

"I'd scarce be able to do anything but," Gwen said. She only stuttered once, on the 's'. Considering that her stomach felt like curdling, rotting milk, it was an accomplishment. "Thank you for trusting me."

Morgana's smile was sudden and painfully bright. "I'd scarce be able to do anything but."

"We should get you out of these clothes," Gwen said. "You need sleep. Real sleep, not the prophetic nonsense."

"It isn't nonsense," Morgana said, but she submitted to Gwen undressing her and pulling a plain white nightdress over her head. Gwen was ready to blow the candles out when Morgana said unsteadily, "Gwen?"

"Yes?"

"You should – I mean, you could." Morgana swallowed hard. "Stay. Please. There's a pallet under my bed."

Gwen knew perfectly well about the pallet, since it was she who directed the maids to clean under Morgana's bed once a week. Still, she felt quite ready to throw herself out the window. Morgana's mercurial moods were going to prove deadly. "I...I wouldn't be in the way?"

"No, of course not." Morgana spread her hands. "I'm hardly going to ask anyone else to stay. But I'd prefer not to be alone."

Gwen couldn't say no, with the memories of Morgana teetering on the edge so strong still. "Right, then," she said. "Can I borrow a blanket?"

"As many as you need," Morgana said, handing her one.

"This will suffice," Gwen said. She wrapped it around herself and rolled over. "Thank you."

Morgana didn't answer; Gwen closed her eyes and feigned sleep until it became reality.

||

The next morning, in the small hours before the nobles would start waking up but far after the cooks and maids had begun their work, Gwen was carrying an armful of laundry to the laundry room.

"Oh, hello," Merlin said from somewhere in front of her.

"I can't see you," Gwen said into the mound of linen sheets, "so apologies if I bump into you. Also, good morning."

"Are those Morgana's?" Merlin asked, falling into step beside Gwen.

"Yes," Gwen said. "What are you about?"

"Just took Arthur's tunics to be done. The git needs them impossibly clean."

Gwen couldn't supress a smile. "And yet, you no longer sound angry about it."

"I've grown accustomed to him, I suppose. Speaking of which, he keeps talking about Morgana lately."

"How odd."

"You know what it's about," Merlin said suddenly. "You're a rotten liar."

Gwen finally reached the enormous wooden troughs the laundry maids did their work in and dumped the linens in them. "You're quite correct, I'm awful at it," she said. "But if Arthur thought you had a right to the information, wouldn't he have told you what was happening?"

"Arthur's a prat. And you're Morgana's maidservant; it's your right to tell, not his."

Gwen turned to return to Morgana's rooms. Arthur's were close enough by that Merlin would probably walk almost the whole way with her. She turned over his statement in her mind. "I suppose," she said finally. "It's largely harmless, anyway. Arthur is just of the repeatedly stated opinion that Morgana and I should form an intimate attachment."

Despite her affected, blasé tone, she tripped over the words. She wasn't terribly surprised when the words made Merlin actually trip. "Oh," he told the stone floor.

"Yes. It's all rather complicated."

"Do you love her?" Something about his ridiculous, eager tone made his ears seem even larger. How odd.

"It hardly matters," Gwen said. "The idea is ridiculous. Arthur needs more perilous adventures to keep him distracted, obviously."

"I don't think it's so ridiculous. Not if you truly care about her. And we've talked about this before; I'm quite convinced you do."

"You two are worse than old women – or old men, talking about their granddaughters' prospects. Have you no shame?"

Merlin shrugged, grinning carelessly. "It's all very scandalous. I like it."

"You're deranged," Gwen said. They were near Morgana's room now, and through the narrow windows Gwen could see that dawn had nearly arrived. "I should leave."

"Right." Merlin's cheeky smile faded, and he was once again small and rather awkward. "Well. Good luck, anyway."

Gwen couldn't stop herself from blushing. "Thank you."

"Right. So." Merlin waved an expansive hand. "I'll just be going, then."

"Goodbye," Gwen said, and waited with as much composure as she could as Merlin made his clumsy exit.

She went into Morgana's room when he was done. She was still sleeping soundly, for once inert, the only evidence of nighttime turmoil being the way her sheets and nightgown were twisted around her limbs.

Gwen fought the urge to lean down and brush her lips over Morgana's. A kiss would not solve anything right now. "Morgana," she said quietly, touching Morgana's shoulder.

Morgana's lips curved in a smile. "Mmm, Gwen," she mumbled.

And then, before Gwen had a chance to contradict her or wake her up completely or simply move away, Morgana grabbed her, pulled her close, and kissed her.

Gwen had long since left the uncertain precipice of new adolescence behind. She didn't consider herself an adult in the same way Uther was, but she was certainly grown up, certainly capable of coping with her own uncertainty and shyness.

Or at least, that was what she'd thought. Then Morgana's kiss happened, angry and demanding and not even approaching safe, and it was all Gwen could do not to stammer out some ridiculous excuse and flee the scene entirely.

As it was, she pulled back quickly, tripping over her own feet. "I – that – Morgana. That cannot happen."

"Why not?" The color was high in Morgana's cheeks. "You're not shy about saying no. You love it as much as I do, I can tell. So why not?"

"It's not right," Gwen said.

Morgana snorted. "Provided no children are created, do you think anyone at this court cares?"

"It's not right for me," Gwen said. "Or for you. What happens when we grow tired of each other, Morgana?"

"Who's to say we will?" Morgana tilted her chin defiantly. "Unless you think you'll tire of me."

Never, Gwen thought – particularly not now, when Morgana was as close to her old, imperious self as she'd been in a long time. "That's not the point. If something happens, who will be there for you? Who will make sure you don't depart down the path that ends in – in your visions?"

"Who's to say being with you won't prevent me from ever coming close?"

"It's too much of a gamble."

Morgana smoothed her hair and leaned back. When she spoke again, it was with the smooth voice of a courtier. "If you truly thought that, you never would have argued with me."

Gwen would have been a fool to claim her next movements were anything but running away: she picked up her skirts, turned, and walked away as quickly as her feet would carry her.

||

When Gwen had been very young she'd had a bit of a disagreement with one of the neighborhood boys – and five of his friends – that resulted in them hunting for her for a good five days. She'd hidden quite thoroughly then, more than a little aware that if they found her, she'd be in for nothing but hurt.

She hid even more thoroughly now. She was quite certain she was undetectable up here in the tower; it was a busy area, being the spot the court astronomer occupied most night, but it was not so busy that she'd be sure to be discovered.

Of course, she realized she'd forgotten Morgana's burgeoning scrying skills when she saw the lady in question's skirts right outside her hiding place.

"Gwen. Come out."

Gwen didn't bother dissembling any further, she simply climbed out of the cabinet she's been in and folded her hands in front of her. "My lady."

"Gwen." Morgana looked her up and down. She looked imperious as always, but something in the way she stood indicated...not surrender, certainly, but its kin.

"I'll beg," Morgana said quietly, "if I have to."

And then Gwen recognized what she saw: submission.

How utterly, terrifyingly, delightfully odd.

"Give me time," Gwen said. "I don't need forever, just – a little while. A little time."

Morgana relaxed a little and nodded. "Time I can grant."

"Good." Gwen moved forward a little, enough to lean in and kiss Morgana's cheek. "Thank you."

In response, Morgana took her hand.

||

Gwen spent a week terrified that Morgana would go back on her promise to give Gwen time, and another week disappointed that she seemed to intend to fully keep the promise for as long as Gwen required.

There was evidence, of course, that Morgana didn't want to. The way she leaned back against Gwen's hands when Gwen bathed her, for example, or the way her eyes raked over Gwen when she summoned Gwen in the middle of the night and Gwen arrived wearing her thin shift. Yes, there was evidence aplenty, and sometimes Gwen wanted to beg Merlin for advice on how to deal with it.

But then, some not-terribly-small part of her loved it. Knowing she could command Morgana, even in a small way, was thrilling.

And heavens, she sounded like a right twit, didn't she? She sighed and went back to her needlework, resolutely putting all thoughts of Morgana out of her mind. She could go quite some time without so much as thinking of Morgana. It would be easy.

So absorbed in not thinking about Morgana was she that she did not notice the chamberpot tottering past her until it smacked into the wall opposite where she was sitting and fell over backwards, legs wiggling in the air.

Gwen's first though was preternaturally calm: I do hope Uther has not yet seen this.

Her second thought was a bit more urgent: Uther cannot see this. Accordingly, she rose to her feet and said loudly, "Merlin! I need to speak with you!"

A brown-haired figure slowly emerged from the entryway the chamber pot must have first walked through – but under the cloak was Morgana, not Merlin.

Gwen stared at her, and then at the chamber pot, and then at Morgana again.. "Really?" she said finally.

Morgana nodded, clearly miserable. "I only wanted to make it immune to unpleasant things sticking to it. I didn't realize I'd actually make it move."

Gwen had to vehemently stifle the urge to laugh. "I see. How alarming."

"It's not humorous at all, you know," Morgana said. "What if Uther had seen?"

"Likely he'd have assumed it was out to murder him and run in the opposite direction."

"And then promptly beheaded me."

"Well, yes." Gwen eyed the chamberpot. "Can you get its legs off, do you think? Or at least make it a little less active?"

Morgana held out a single slim finger, pointing at the pot. "Calm down," she said in imperious tones.

The chamberpot's legs disappeared.

"Handy," Gwen said, and walked over to retrieve it.

"Wait." Morgana brushed past her in a flurry of silk and linen. "I'll do it. It's my fault it's here, after all."

"Don't be ridiculous. The Lady Morgana cannot be seen carrying a chamberpot throughout the castle with her maid trailing along behind her."

"It was my fault," Morgana all but snapped. "I will carry it back, Gwen."

Gwen knew better than to argue when Morgana used that tone. Two years ago she would have bobbed a curtsey as a manner of apologizing; six month ago she would have nodded in submission. Now she simply stepped aside to let Morgana leave the room ahead of her.

When they returned to Morgana's chambers, Morgana put the chamberpot back next to her bed and sat down on the furniture in question, frowning at the far wall. Gwen closed the door and stood to the side, watching as Morgana's eyes traced the line of the wall – back and forth, back and forth.

"I can feel it growing in me," she said finally.

"The magic?"

"The power," Morgana said. Her hands twitched on the sheets. "I feel as if I could see anything, do anything, if I continue with this. It's dangerous. And yet..." She held up a hand and the draperies over the window lifted, waving in a nonexistent wind. "It's delightful. I never want to stop."

Gwen was careful to keep her voice light when she said, "Merlin's quite loose with his magic and hasn't yet tried to enslave all of us. Perhaps you'll be fine."

"Merlin couldn't manage a dozen servants, much less a kingdom of slaves," Morgana said. She had that same soft smile everyone wore when they spoke of Merlin's incompetence.

Gwen felt her own face mirror that smile. "He's charming, but yes. Rather incompetent."

But instead of continuing the topic, Morgana's face became shuttered. "So, yes, I continue to practice magic. I suppose there's been a calamity for Arthur to try to take care of recently?"

Gwen shook her head. "Not that I've heard of."

"Hmm." Morgana stood, twitching her skirts the way she always did when she was nervous. "I think I shall go out."

Gwen couldn't stop her surprise from showing on her face. "Riding?"

"No, to the market. I've been doing some...reading." Morgana blushed a little.

"Oh, really? What sort of reading?"

"Uther has a number of books on magic. I've been borrowing them." Morgana's expression was defiant, as though she thought Gwen was going to scold her. Surprised though she was that Morgana had kept such a significant secret from her, Gwen couldn't precisely bring herself to feel anger. "They speak of an object, a stone or piece of jewelry or such, used by the magician to channel his or her magic more precisely. I wish to obtain one."

"...in Camelot?"

"It can be a perfectly ordinary object. The magician is the one who makes it powerful."

Gwen, looking at Morgana, could only wonder at the idea of anything close to Morgana being ordinary. "Very well. I shall accompany you, then."

"I hardly need -"

"I shall accompany you," Gwen said as firmly as she could.

Morgana's laugh was unexpected, but sweet and wonderful to hear all the same. "Very well, then. Fetch my cloak."

||

"I shall not pay five gold pieces for that ruby," Morgana said flatly.

"M'lady, it's the finest in the kingdom." The jewel seller smiled widely, showing his four teeth to rather poor advantage. "You won't regret it."

"I'm quite sure I would," Morgana said. "The answer's no. Two gold pieces, or I take my business elsewhere."

"Allow me to confirm with my business partner 'ere," the man said, tapping the cage next to him that held a fat brown rat.

Morgana wrinkled her nose, but didn't protest as the man turned around. Gwen strained her ears but could hear nothing but deranged-sounding mumbling -

Until the old man turned around again, and under his threadbare hood was a beautiful young man.

Gwen gasped; Morgana didn't. "I suspected as much," she said crisply. "What's so special about this ruby, that you want five gold pieces for it?"

The druid's face was unsmiling when he said, "It will give you enough power to depose the king."

"You know who I am, then."

"We all do."

"Then you should know I don't wish to depose the king," Morgana said. "I want to control my magic, to channel it, to -"

"Win the heart of fair lady?"

"My proclivities are hardly your concern."

Gwen, who daily now had to fight against touching Morgana, agreed.

"Five gold pieces," the Druid said, "and you'll get this as well." From beneath the wooden plank holding most of his wares, he produced a thin gold chain.

Morgana examined it critically. "Why do I want it?"

"Protection. From lies, from betrayal." The man – boy – cocked his head. "Some would say from Fate herself."

That sounded rather dramatic, Gwen thought; but it was the perfect thing to tell Morgana, whose dreams had not ceased to plague her. "Sold," Morgana said, and counted out the gold pieces.

She gave Gwen the gold chain and examined the ruby more closely as they walked away. It was rather small for a magical object, Gwen thought; it was only a little more than half the length of a pinky, round and lopsided. It was enormous for a ruby, of course, but when she pictured Morgana owning a magical object she rather expected something...bigger.

When she voiced this thought to Morgana, Morgana just laughed. "Size isn't everything," she said teasingly, making Gwen blush. "He was handsome, didn't you think?"

It was an abrupt change of subject and made Gwen look down, thoughts racing. Didn't Morgana know? She thought...but no matter. "He was quite male. I couldn't say."

"But – oh. Oh," Morgana said "I...see."

"Yes."

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Gwen wished desperately that she could simply walk ahead of Morgana, or perhaps just disappear. Instead she had to continue walking just behind her, waiting for Morgana to say something.

"I think next time I'll give one of my dress legs," Morgana said finally, "and then send it in to sit at court for me."

It wasn't that funny, but Gwen felt as though her own nerves were pressing against her everywhere, temples to knees to toes, and the surprise made her react rather ridiculously to the pressure: she laughed hysterically.

"It wasn't that funny," Morgana said, sounding a little disturbed.

Gwen was rather inclined to agree, but couldn't say anything in between bouts of laughter. She calmed down before they entered the walled enclosure that signified the beginning of the castle, but only just.

Morgana didn't comment on it until they were safely ensconced in her quarters again. "If I didn't know better," she said, handing her cloak to Gwen, "I'd think you had been in the wine."

"I was nervous," Gwen said. "And rather...emotionally drunk, I suppose. Imbalanced."

"I'm the one with the odd magical adventures, you realize."

"Indeed," Gwen said, "but I'm the one who must clean up whatever messes you make."

Morgana stared at her for an uncomfortably long moment. Gwen was almost tempted to apologize – for what, she wasn't entirely sure. Finally Morgana said, "I plan to spend the rest of the day experimenting with the stone. I imagine it will be quite dull; I won't need your help for the remainder of the afternoon. Please consider it free time."

Gwen knew better than to argue; she bobbed a curtsy and said, "Thank you," backing smoothly out of the room.

As she walked out of the castle, she tried to push down the parts of her that were worrying uselessly about Morgana's opinion of her. She knew Morgana wanted rather a lot from her, and she knew Morgana did not like for people to tell her no. It made sense that she'd be touchy about things of a romantic nature. And yet still, as she walked to the market, she couldn't make her nagging sense of worry go away entirely.

It had taken her some time after coming to the castle to develop any interests outside of her care for Morgana. The work had been grueling, to begin with; she had not waited directly on Morgana as a junior servant, and had instead been responsible for laundry, cleaning, and other exhausting things. She had been at the castle for nearly three months before she left it to explore, even.

Now she had a carefully defined set of things she loved, things she enjoyed, and things she found tolerable when she needed distraction. The castle and its environs was her home; Morgana's own chambers lay at the center of it, but she was far from an empty girl with no outside interests now.

And yet somehow, as she perused the market for a brooch for her cloak, she felt entirely out of place. Parts of her she'd prefer to pretend didn't exist wanted her back in the castle, back at Morgana's side.

She had never been fond of lying to herself. She left the market and found a clearing a mile away from the castle, sitting down and turning her thoughts very resolutely towards Morgana. It was difficult; years of slow, confusing change had made her feelings for Morgana a ball that was nearly impossible to disentangle.

But she did have a life apart from Morgana, and she drew on that now, casting her thoughts back to her past. Her father had never quite known what to do with her; looking back, she knew she had been far more willful than he was used to encountering from the young girls in the family. Until she was ten she had been quite determined to work at the forge when she grew up, to be exactly like him. In the end, her determination was changed not by him, but by her own growing knowledge of just how thoroughly she would be ostracized should she choose to work at the forge. It was perfectly fine for her father, an able-bodied man; but his daughter could never be a blacksmith without inciting rancor within the community.

So she found other things she enjoyed: knot-work, gardening, and caring for the forge's cats. She was quite content with those things when word of a position at the castle had come. Becoming Morgana's servant had been advantageous for any number of reasons, but she'd had to give up playing with animals and gardening. She did, however, still love knot-work, and it was this that she took out of her satchel. It was simple enough labor; she simply knotted lengths of cloth together, working methodically in rows. Eventually this project would resolve itself into a rug for Gwen's own room. Right now it was the barest of frameworks.

Her hands moved over it quickly. She turned her thoughts away from her room; it was too closely connected to Morgana. Instead she moved over the old stories she used to tell herself, of the Druids who lived near her father's forge and the faeries he always left tokens for at each solstice. They weren't gods as such, but they were powers, certainly – powers that neither she nor her father wanted to offend.

It was, she thought, quite a simple process, the laying out of food. But it was rewarding in its own way. Whether brownies or the earliest-awake cat drank the small saucer of milk they laid out, and whether the fae or a wandering child appreciated the scraps of cloth left for them, it was still ritual. And ritual, she knew, bound lives together. Why, even in her everyday actions, before Morgana woke up -

Her hands stilled as she forced her mind away from that path. Merlin – there, she could think about Merlin. Everyone else certainly was. Her mind was distracted, of course, by the care and keeping of Morgana – when was it not? - but she hadn't missed the subtle reordering of Arthur's life. It was undeniably Merlin's doing.

But Merlin was not terribly interesting to think about. Kind and funny and the same kind of awkward Gwen knew herself to be, yes, but not interesting, not something she'd voluntarily study. Not like...

Damn it. Was she incapable of not mooning after Morgana, then, like some sort of half-wit milksop of a court lord that she and Morgana mocked after the banquets Uther held? How humiliatingly philistine. "Just stop it," she told her hands, resolutely turning her mind away yet again.

But Morgana's spectre haunted her still, until finally – after hours of knot-work and pretending she wasn't thinking about the only person she'd turned her thoughts towards lately – she gave up and returned to the castle.

She didn't realize something was off for an embarrassingly long period of time. She ate her dinner, tidied her room, went for a walk along the castle wall, and retired back to her room to read an old medicinal tome Gaius had lent her before she realized that the air was...off. And not just the air, either – her candle was flickering to the rhythm of a wind that didn't exist.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Some sort of magic was afoot, she could feel it. Never mind that such a feeling probably wasn't even supposed to be possible; it was still most certainly true. And it could be Merlin, she supposed – it could quite likely be Merlin. But if Merlin was in danger then Arthur and his sword would help get him out of it. If Morgana was in danger then no one would recognize it in time; no one except Gwen, anyway.

So she left her room and walked quickly down the hallway towards Morgana's rooms. Most of the time she did not regret rejecting Morgana's offer, that Gwen should have the large room adjoining Morgana's own bedchamber, but at times like these, when danger was quite obvious and speed was necessary, she definitely did. It took her far too long to reach the hallway that housed Morgana's room.

As Morgana's door came into view she broke out into a run, because she could feel whatever evil was in there now, pungent and horrifying. She jammed her key in the lock and flung the door open, ready to beat back whoever – or whatever – it was. "My lady!"

Morgana stood with her back flat against the far wall, skin and nightgown dead white – a shocking contrast to the heavy black mist that surrounded her.

"Gwen!" Morgana all but screamed. "It's not safe, leave!"

"What happened?" Gwen yelled back. She didn't leave, of course; instead she started walking forward, frantically trying to think of how to dispel the evil mist.

"It's the stone, I did something wrong. Gwen, get out of here, you can't fight this."

Gwen had only heard Morgana this panicked back when Morgana was fifteen and Uther had been entertaining the idea of marrying her off to a warlord three times her age. "Absolutely not," she said. "Tell me how to get rid of it."

"Gwen, please. You can't."

Hearing Morgana beg made Gwen's stomach twist, but she held her ground all the same. "I'm not going to leave you," she said firmly, and took another step forward. Being this close to the mist had all her senses jumbled; she could only imagine how Morgana felt. "Now tell me how to dispatch it, please." She took another step forward.

Sibilant noises began to make themselves known in her mind. When she reached out and caught Morgana's hand in hers, the mist wrapped around her wrist and the noises solidified into words. Small, soft, ours...our right, ours, ours, ours.

"It's not terribly interesting, is it?" Gwen said. Her voice only shook a little.

Morgana let out a breathy, awful laugh. "No."

"You don't know how to make it go away, I assume."

"Not in the slightest."

Gwen turned the options over in her mind. Ordinary mist was driven off by heat, but this wasn't anything that occurred in nature. What would an evil black mist be afraid of? "How did it come to be here?"

"I got scared," Morgana said. "Tapping into magic, it's...I feel as if I could do anything. Take anyone I like and keep them, hurt anyone who displeases me, that sort of thing."

"Magic makes you a tyrant."

"Magic makes me feel as though I could be."

"And the mist?"

"I was just thinking too much about..." Morgana blushed. "About being a tyrant, I suppose. About being queen, allowing magic and seeing Uther sent to the stocks. I couldn't stop thinking about it."

Gwen loved Morgana, she truly did, but – "Sometimes I could smack you," she said mildly. "We're going to die here because your ego is an evil black mist."

Morgana grimaced. "Blunt, aren't you."

"To a fault," Gwen said, and tried to imagine how in the world they were going to get out of this.

She couldn't kill it; of that she was now quite certain. There was surely a way to dispatch of it, but she equally surely had no idea what it was. She could tell from the awful whispering in her head that should she try to leave, it would find a way to stop her.

And so, tired and quite thoroughly out of options, she leaned forward and kissed Morgana square on the lips.

At first nothing happened, which was fine; she hadn't expected anything to happen. It was an act of selfish desperation. But then Morgana reared forward, kissing Gwen back -

And the mist vanished as though it had never been.

Gwen's shock was such that she pulled away from the kiss, amazing though it was. "What just happened?"

Morgana shook her head. "I couldn't say."

"You and and you should," Gwen said. "What in the world just happened?"

"The mist went away, which I think is rather good," Morgana said waspishly. "Must you demand answers to everything?"

"I'm demanding because I know you know precisely what just occurred," Gwen said. "And you need to tell me."

For a second Morgana looked like nothing so much as a petulant child, and Gwen was almost tempted to laugh. Then she sighed and said, "Nothing, really. I just...I stopped thinking when you kissed me."

Gwen blinked. "Entirely?" Was that even possible?

Morgana's blush before had been a delicate stain of pink on her cheeks. This was a fuller blush, dark red and rather ridiculously mottled from her temples down to her shoulders. "About everything except you, yes."

"And the mist..."

"Was really just my thoughts. I simply couldn't control them."

"So your rampaging ego made solid – or, almost – was vanquished by me kissing you?"

Morgana nodded.

Gwen stopped to turn this over in her mind. Part of her was quite sure she was being unreasonable with the blinding rage she felt at this declaration. There was nothing wrong, precisely, after all. The other part quite sensibly pointed out that actually, there was a great deal wrong, starting with the rather insane fact that apparently, Gwen had the power to stop Morgana's thoughts with her lips.

"I see," she said finally – and ah, to hell with it all. "I had better kiss you again, then."

Morgana blinked. "Pardon?"

Gwen beamed at her. "It's vital, you see. For both of our safety. We can't have black mists constantly threatening our welfare."

Morgana began to smile. And damn her to hell: it utterly quenched Gwen's anger, leaving only a confused jumble of affection and exasperation in its place. "I see," Morgana said.

"And should you become discontent, it might appear again." Gwen took another step forward, so that she was pressing Morgana's body against the stone wall with her own. She felt a bit foolish, rather like she had the first few times she'd served Morgana at the King's table: self-conscious and certain everyone was watching her more than they possibly could be. "So we should take steps to ensure that doesn't happen."

"You can just kiss me, you know," Morgana said. "You needn't try to be clever about it."

It wasn't the worst advice Gwen had ever received. She curled a hand around Morgana's cheek, sliding it back to Morgana's already-messy hair, and pulled her in for another kiss.

Everything went too quickly after that. Gwen's body, which had never been terribly obedient, warmed now to Morgana with frightening intensity. "I want," she said, but the words died in her mouth, because Morgana was unlacing her bodice.

"You should tell me to stop," Morgana said breathily, kissing Gwen's neck. "Really you should. I don't – the dreams –"

Gwen was sensible. She had to be, since she was maid for such a profoundly capricious noblewoman. But right now she couldn't force herself to be even remotely responsible. "Hang the dreams," she said roughly, tugging at Morgana's nightgown. The fabric was so thin she could feel the heat of Morgana's body; her nipples brushed over Gwen's palm, tantalizingly close. "Take this off."

Morgana blinked at her. It occurred to Gwen, far too late, how unaccustomed she must be to people giving her orders. People who weren't Uther, anyway.

But Gwen wasn't about to let that stop her. "Right now," she said forcefully, and stepped back to shed her own dress.

Morgana's hands went to her laces. She got the nightgown half undone, so it was gapping at her waist – but then she stopped, choosing instead to stare openly at Gwen, who'd gotten herself naked with her usual alacrity.

"What?" Gwen said.

"I...you..." Morgana shook her head, and her lips curved into a smile. "Nothing, dear."

It was a silly endearment. It made Gwen want Morgana even more acutely.

Then Morgana pushed her nightgown down entirely, and...her body was not a revelation. Gwen already knew it intimately, almost as well as she knew her own. But here, knowing what was going to happen – that made it different. Special, in a terrifying way. "Get on the bed," Gwen said. Her voice was nothing but a ragged whisper.

Morgana obeyed, and Gwen moved over her, pressing her down and kissing her hard. It was exquisite and terrifying, Morgana's skin and tongue and hands moving all over Gwen, casually proprietary in the most amazing way.

"Morgana," Gwen whispered, kissing her jaw, hands moving down over her hips.

"Gwen," Morgana responded, and a cool touch of wind ran down Gwen's back and over her legs.

Gwen shivered: it was magic . Morgana's magic. "Just...don't stop," she said, moving down to kiss Morgana's breasts.

Morgana didn't.

||

Gwen woke the next morning to fingers tracing circles over her stomach.

"You're awake," Morgana said, and smiled.

"...I'm awake late," Gwen said, sitting up and fighting a growing sense of horror.

Morgana waved a dismissive hand. "I called in a maid. You have the day off, and everything is being taken care of."

That made Gwen feel as though a brick had settled in her stomach. "You called in a maid," she said carefully.

Morgana smiled. "Yes."

"While I was lying in your bed."

"In a manner of speaking," Morgana said, and passed a hand over Gwen's legs.

They disappeared.

Gwen couldn't stop herself from jerking back – only she'd already been on the edge of the bed, so she fell to the floor in a tangled heap of sheets and invisible limbs. "Morgana!"

Morgana laughed. "Honestly, Gwen, I don't know why you're surprised."

"I didn't know you could make things invisible!" Gwen kicked her way free of the sheets and sprang to her invisible feet. "Put me back!"

"Why should I?" Morgana said, winding a bit of hair around her finger.

She was clearly just teasing, but Gwen was quite sure the best recourse at this point would be to bash Morgana's head in. "You absolute idiotic egomaniacal - "

Morgana grabbed her and pulled her back down to the bed. Gwen had half a second to note her legs' reappearance before Morgana was kissing her hard.

They got very little of note accomplished that morning, but Gwen couldn't really complain.

||

For a time everything stayed very close to normal. Morgana very obviously did not want to upset that normality; Gwen kept catching Morgana staring at her with a kind of odd, guarded wonder, as though she thought Gwen would break if she watched too intently. For her part, Gwen tried not to ask if Morgana had stopped dreaming about being a bloodthirsty killer. She had absolutely no right to expect that their relationship would alter such a dramatic, horrible future.

But she hoped it would, in the tiny corners of her mind where she stored foolishness she ought to already have grown out of. Part of her, she was realizing now, would always believe in Morgana above all others. It was terrifying, but at the same time, Gwen knew Morgana felt much the same about her. It gave them power over each other, and it made Gwen hope, so intently, for a better future. But she knew only time would tell if their relationship really changed anything.

A fortnight after they'd begun their – involvement – Uther summoned Morgana to the throne room. Gwen stood back, as normally Morgana would have gone alone; Morgana shocked her by taking her hand in front of two maids. "Come with me," she said, looking Gwen in the eye.

It was unequivocally an order. Gwen nodded and followed.

The throne room was empty and dark, completely different from what Gwen was used to. She eyed the heavy curtains over the windows nervously; she didn't like the idea that whatever went on here would not be seen by those outside.

Uther cleared his throat loudly. "Morgana."

Gwen realized her mistake with a lurch of fear and dropped a deep curtsey. "Your Majesty," she murmured, backing away to stand by the wall.

"Uther," Morgana said, bobbing a short curtsey. It was impudent, but the corners of Uther's mouth tucked in as if he was trying not to smile.

"I have received word from King Jacob that his son is returned from the east," Uther said. "Do you remember young Brennan?"

Gwen watched Morgana carefully, but nothing in her expression or complexion implied even the slightest bit of alarm. "Quite well, yes."

"He wishes to court you," Uther said. He turned and walked back towards the throne; his stature and pace was of an ambling man, but somehow each movement was imbued with purpose. He was still every inch a king, Gwen thought – which was why Morgana seeking to kill him had been so horrifying. "Naturally, if they make a handsome enough offer, I shall agree to the contract."

Morgana still looked utterly, perfectly calm. Gwen didn't understand how she accomplished it. "Do you know what that offer might be?"

"I'll accept no less than a thousand gold pieces." Uther turned towards Morgana. "And you do not object to this? I recall your rather...insistent...resistance the last time a match was offered."

Morgana had flown into a rage, locking her door and standing on the edge of her window as though to jump to her death. Gwen knew Morgana was remembering the same thing when she half laughed. "I was fifteen, my lord, and hardly prepared to become a man's wife."

"Many women do, at fifteen."

"I'm not many women." Morgana waited just long enough for the silence to grow drawn-out and uncomfortable before she added, "And at any rate, now I am quite ready. Tell Brennan to do his worst – or best, I suppose. I shall allow myself to be wooed for the proper price."

Uther smiled and began talking about politics; the matter was clearly settled. Gwen closed her ears to the dull talk (Morgana would repeat it later anyway) and thought about Morgana becoming this Brennan's wife.

She would be a queen someday, which would be gratifying to her. Gwen knew that Morgana would bring her household with her upon her departure, and that definitely included Gwen – so Gwen at least didn't have to worry about them parting. And Gwen, being a serving girl and thus privy to information not divulged to those expected to have maidenly virtue, knew that Brennan would most likely only visit Morgana's bed a few times a month once Morgana had borne him a son.

Except...Morgana was attractive; God knew Gwen was aware of it. What if Brennan sought her charms every night? No matter what happened Morgana would find time for Gwen, she knew, but if Brennan tired her out...

He would come first, always, in the marital bed. He would have to. No one must discover precisely what Gwen's relationship with Morgana now was.

But perhaps Morgana would find a way to keep him away, should he prove too amorous. Perhaps her magic -

Gwen tightened her hands on the fabric of her dress. No; no magic. It wouldn't be needed. Brennan would be a nice, placid, boring husband, who took his pleasures from the ladies at court.

Even if the ladies were like Camelot's and could not compare to Morgana's beauty.

Gwen gritted her teeth and put a tight hold on her emotions, willing them to stay far beneath the surface.

When their talk finally concluded, Morgana bowed to Uther and nodded at Gwen. "Let's return to my chambers," she said, sweeping out without a backwards glance. Gwen curtsied to Uther and hurried after her.

She'd scarce closed the bedroom door behind her when Morgana burst out, "Can you believe the impertinence? Supposing I would shirk my duty simply because I wished to when I was fifteen!"

"You did also try to kill him recently," Gwen said.

"...true," Morgana said. "Still. Oh, Gwen." She leaned forward, her forehead resting against Gwen's. "Are you afraid, then?"

"Afraid? I?" Gwen gave a laugh that sounded hollow even to her own ears. "Whyever should I be?"

"Brennan could steal my affections...or at least claim my attention, as a husband may." Morgana's voice was casual, but the words hurt; Gwen suspected Morgana knew it. "He could be a tyrant and beat me. He could be any number of things."

But Gwen had had an incredibly boring stretch of time to formulate answers to such speculation. "And you," she said tartly, "could become a virago and terrorize the court – or you could die in childbirth. You could tire of my attention and have me killed. You could do any number of things. Do you think I go through life afraid of you, Morgana? Truly?"

Morgana did what Gwen absolutely had not been expecting and winced. "No."

"Right," Gwen said. "Absolutely not. Now, where were we?"

"I'm going to embroider," Morgana said, and moved to do just that.

Gwen had to fight the sudden near-hysterical urge to burst into laughter. "Right, then," she said. "I'm going to go fetch your midday meal."

Morgana smiled, oddly shy, and nodded a goodbye.

As she walked down the hall she could hear Merlin and Arthur having a shouting match. The hangings on the hallway were fluttering a little; Gwen would have to remember to mention it to Merlin. The last thing he needed was to be arrested for magic. When she got to the kitchen, Gaius was bumbling about with a bunch of herbs, murmuring to himself in a manner she knew was calculated to make the kitchen staff think him quite senile. As she got the tray of food and started back for Morgana's rooms, a ghostly wind brushed her cheek and Morgana's voice whispered hurry back in her ear.

She was quite uncertain what the future would bring, that was true. But she was not – she thought she was not – afraid. Not because she could not be, but because she refused to be.

Camelot would someday be theirs; the muck Uther was making of it would be their responsibility to put to rights. And she intended to see that the four of them did just that.