[Merlin, Morgana/Gwen] turning in revolutions
So. I’m not exactly sure how I managed to make myself write 16,500 words of plotty fic, let alone plotty femmeslash. I don’t do plot, and usually I’m better at seeing girl love than writing it; I’ve even kept myself from reading too much other Morgana/Gwen (which, believe me, has been mildly torturous) so that I could keep this image of them in my head. But now those days are over! Huzzah.

Also, this may or may not be the first in a series that I’ve been planning out in my head. All of which have plot. Sometimes I kind of hate my brain.

Overwhelming thanks go out to glass_moment for a wonderful beta, to slylilgoblin, roomie!Hannah, and Nora for reading and encouraging, and for all of the above plus Andrew, Megan, and luthien13 for being just as damn excited about Merlin as I am.


turning in revolutions
Morgana/Gwen, Merlin/Arthur pre-slash
16,500 words, adult
title from Gravity by Vienna Teng

They were so different. In moments of weakness, under the cloak of darkness, Gwen let her mask slide out of place; Morgana only drew it in tighter, taking a kind of refuge in secrecy that Gwen could neither understand nor approach.


turning in revolutions


The week after Arthur recovered from the Questing Beast’s attack, Morgana’s nightmares became increasingly severe.

Unlike any that she had experienced before, there was nothing definite in the dreams, no people or places that she could even remotely identify – only misshapen forms and flashes of light followed by dense, inescapable darkness. Though she had no concrete reason for it, they filled her to the brim with an unspeakable fear that bubbled and boiled inside her until she woke up screaming more desperately than ever before.

“My lady,” said Gwen, who had to be accustomed to these episodes, but who still looked drawn and anxious, “will you not tell me?” She stroked Morgana’s hair as Morgana sobbed into her shoulder, but she could not tell.

She had always been reluctant to reveal her dreams to Gwen – pride, perhaps, or an adherence to noble stoicism that Morgana had to follow even with her closest friend. But those had never stopped her in the past with other secrets. And Morgana had to admit that it was not any of those reasons, because that kind of barrier did not exist between her and Gwen.

No, the chasm between lady and maid had been breached long ago, and that one fact meant Morgana had to admit her true aversion to telling Gwen now – because it was not only the dreams that she could not reveal but their prophetic nature. It had been hinted at in the past but never proven or confirmed, and Gwen had suffered so much from the suspicion of sorcery that ever since her father had died, Morgana could not find it in herself to subject her to anything out of the ordinary. A protective measure for both of them, perhaps – to keep Gwen out of any kind of harm, and to shield Morgana from the instinctive flicker of wariness and fear she would see in Gwen’s eyes if she told.

As the days passed, the fears continued to simmer inside her, and she knew that she had to tell someone, even if there was nothing to tell except the threat of something unknown. Normally she would have gone to Gaius, but lately she had been feeling less and less secure in the way that Gaius treated her dreams – not from a lack of trust, but because he continued to insist that they were merely nightmares which could be cured. Morgana knew he must suspect something at the very least, but Gaius was too restrained by the past, memories and inhibitions of the unnatural that had built up over the years.

There was one person that she thought she could trust, but every time she saw Merlin, he had a stiff, cold look on his face. There had been hard times for all of them, she knew, but Merlin’s moods had started even before Arthur’s brush with death. And there was no use trying to summon him; even Arthur couldn’t keep track of his whereabouts all the time.

Finally she was able to catch him where he couldn’t very well ignore her, walking alone down a hallway. “Merlin,” she said. When he continued to walk she repeated, “Merlin,” and he stopped, then turned abruptly towards her.

“Yes, my lady?” he said, his voice flat.

Morgana narrowed her eyes. In the daytime her nightmares seemed at least dulled by the sunlight, and after all, at least one recent horror had been averted – Arthur was alive and well, and despite the nameless feel that still drove her mad at night, that hope gave Morgana the resolve and need to confront this. “I need to speak with you in my chambers. Gwen is at the tailor’s, so we may speak alone.”

“I –”

“That is an order,” she reminded.

He gave a quiet snort that she pointedly ignored, but he did follow her back, closing the door firmly behind him and turning to her, his face shuttered and blank.

“What is this all about, Merlin? This anger towards me?” said Morgana, imperious. “Have I done something to offend you?”

“I don’t know what you mean, my lady.”

“Don’t play games, Merlin, there’s too much at stake. Do you – no longer trust me?”

She saw his eyes widen slightly at that, a faint question playing on his face, but then he stiffened back into resentment. “I’m not sure why you need my trust, I’m just a lowly servant.”

Morgana slammed her hand down on the table, and Merlin jerked back in surprise. “Damn it, Merlin, you’re smarter than that. You must be aware that I - know about you.”

There had been no sudden realization, just a building up of impressions and irreconcilable facts that kept her observant and curious. The results of some of her dreams, the strange circumstances that surrounded Arthur’s manservant – everything pointed to the answer, once she knew where to look.

Indeed, Merlin did seem resigned to her knowledge. “Well, Morgana,” he said quietly, “all of that aside, tell me how I’m supposed to put my trust back in a would-be murderer.”

Morgana’s stomach dropped. That was a discovery she had not expected. She could not figure how, but the fact that someone else knew brought back in vivid colors the memory of what she had almost done. “That was for Gwen,” she whispered.

“Because that’s what Gwen would have wanted?” he snapped.

“Gwen does not think she is worth enough to deserve the things she wants.”

“No, Gwen wouldn’t want revenge because it wouldn’t solve anything.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t solve everything, but it could help, you know it could,” Morgana shot back. “It’s not just Gwen’s father – Uther is a tyrant and killing him would prevent further deaths. And revenge…would help me get over seeing Gwen bear so much grief.” She took a deep breath. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same for someone you – for Arthur, or Gaius, or your mother.”

Merlin looked at her sharply, and she wondered what other secrets he had hidden underneath his skin, how many forbidden thoughts tumbled inside him, longing to burst free. They were two of a kind, she and Merlin.

“Nonetheless, I didn’t,” Morgana said. “I wanted to, and I almost went through with it, but I didn’t.”

Merlin shook his head. “That’s not good enough,” he said quietly. “Not yet, anyway.” He stalked off before she could say anything more, and she let out a huff of frustration.

She would have pressed further, eventually, or at least gone to Gaius with the problems, but after eight nights of repetition the nightmares ended as abruptly as they had started. Although they still nagged at her from somewhere in the back of her mind, she couldn’t bring herself to confront them.

For now, Morgana slept in peace. It was another month before she had any more vivid dreams at all.

*

Since her father’s death, Gwen had taken to spending her nights in the side room in Morgana’s chambers. At first it had been a way to wean her back into sleeping alone, but after Morgana’s dreams and Arthur’s illness, it became too much to go back to a dark, empty home that reminded her of too many things.

Even nightly disturbances from Morgana were better than that, and Morgana had not objected yet to her sleeping there – had even encouraged her. Nothing could stem the grief that still came to Gwen at night, when all the shields of the day were finally let down, but the comforting presence nearby made Gwen feel safe, somehow, if not cured of sorrow. When Morgana had her first dream in a month, Gwen’s first instinct was strangely close to relief, since it was a distraction that let her pour her energy into someone else.

“Morgana?” she said, hurrying into the room to put her arms around her mistress. Morgana was shuddering and sobbing in staccato gulps and Gwen could only murmur softly, stroking her hair and letting the tears soak into the shoulder of her own nightgown.

When Morgana had calmed down slightly, her head still cocooned in the hollow of Gwen’s neck, she asked, “What was it this time?”, as if Morgana ever told her the dreams. “Really, my lady, it’ll help if you let it out. You can’t keep this weight on you all the time.”

Gwen could feel Morgana shake her head, and she bit her lip in frustration. Not only did it upset her that Morgana could not confide in her – it was also unsettling and unfamiliar. At first she had wondered if Morgana was trying to protect her, but more than once, the look of fear on Morgana’s face made Gwen feel that it was more for herself than anything. There was something different about Morgana at night – the slightly mysterious, elusive qualities that only glimmered on her face during the day were heightened in the dark, keeping her utterly separate, and sometimes Gwen wondered if she even knew her.

They were so different. In moments of weakness, under the cloak of darkness, Gwen let her mask slide out of place; Morgana only drew it in tighter, taking a kind of refuge in secrecy that Gwen could neither understand nor approach.

“Please?” she whispered, letting the weakness slip out through her voice, as much for herself as for Morgana. These days Morgana was the only thing left that she could take care of, and she needed to keep her whole, complete.

Morgana let out a shaky breath that danced on Gwen’s skin. “I – it doesn’t make any sense,” she said, softly.

“It doesn’t have to,” Gwen told her.

Morgana sighed again. “I was in a forest,” she began, still hesitant. “It was all – in flashes, but I was in a clearing surrounded by tall, dark trees, and in the center of the clearing was a giant stone table. I was – tied up, I think, and a man brought a dagger to my throat and scraped me, whispering threats. There was a mark on his arm, a long line tattooed in blue ink – and for a moment that was all I could see, until the blue blurred into my vision and I awoke.”

Gwen released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Though Morgana wouldn’t meet her eyes, wouldn’t let down all of her barriers, this was certainly a step. “It was only a dream.”

“Not as bad as some,” Morgana admitted. “Not even near the worst. But after some time, it becomes a burden.”

“Well, my lady, now that you’ve told me, you won’t have to think of them anymore.”

Morgana gave a small smile. “That may be true,” she admitted.

“See? You know that my advice always helps,” Gwen teased. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Morgana just continued to look at her, her nighttime subtlety masking her emotions. And though there was simple gratefulness and affection, Gwen saw a tinge of something in her eyes that she could not define, something speculative and wild that made Gwen’s breath catch.

“You should get some sleep,” Morgana said, breaking Gwen’s reverie. “I’m terrible, keeping you up all hours. You should sleep in tomorrow.”

“I shouldn’t, Morgana, and anyway, you know I don’t mind.”

“But I do,” Morgana insisted. “You’ve been so – brave, and steady these past few months, and here I am burdening you with nameless, unreal fears. You deserve it.”

Gwen couldn’t argue any longer, though by the time she crawled back into bed, it took some time to get back to sleep.

*

True to her word, when Gwen woke at dawn Morgana was up already to wheedle her back into her bed. It was not too difficult since Gwen was apparently not a morning person – her muttered grumblings and bleary eyes made Morgana stifle a giggle, and the way her hair wisped around her face was a sight too adorable to be missed.

Morgana called another servant to bring them both breakfast in an hour, and dressed herself as Gwen slept. This was not a task that Gwen performed anyway, but usually she was there bustling around in the background, chatting as she cleaned the room and folded Morgana’s clothing. The silence was a little strange, and Morgana found herself humming a song that Gwen used to sing to her years ago when she was too afraid to go to sleep. Gwen didn’t sing as much anymore.

The solitude also gave Morgana a chance to think about the dream again. She wondered from whose perspective she had seen the man – usually she was an observer in the dreams, never involved, and it would have been good to warn whoever was about to be threatened. Perhaps if she had the nightmare again – horrible as that would be, it might give her more clues.

Gwen emerged from the side chamber some time after the breakfast arrived. She looked sheepish but rested so Morgana considered herself satisfied. “Morgana, you shouldn’t –”

“Shush,” Morgana ordered, “eat.” And Gwen did look grateful, even if she wouldn’t admit it.

After breakfast routine fell back into place for some time, as Gwen went through her ordinary chores with a little less meticulous attention than usual and Morgana looked over records of commerce in the Camelot markets that Uther sometimes gave her to examine. Afterwards there was a knighting ceremony, then preparations for the next diplomatic mission which Morgana had to attend, then lunch with Uther. By afternoon she was itching for something else to do, and when Gwen returned from washing her clothes, she immediately noticed Morgana’s mood.

“Shall we take a short ride, my lady?” she suggested lightly, and Morgana couldn’t help but smile. Gwen knew her too well.

They changed into riding clothes and took the horses into the woods outside the Camelot walls, not too far but enough that Morgana felt herself relax. There was a kind of exhilaration in being at least somewhere less safe and protected than the castle, but it was still tempered by Gwen’s comforting and familiar presence.

“What shall we do today?” she said when they had found a clearing and tied the horses up.

“I think I’d like to continue working on falling and throws,” replied Gwen. Morgana nodded. She couldn’t remember when this ritual had started, coming out to the woods to practice sparring. Originally it had been purely a way for Morgana to release her pent-up energy, especially after Uther had stopped Morgana’s archery and fencing lessons when she was sixteen, but lately it had become more and more a benefit for Gwen. They both had some experience with staff work and Gwen knew weapons inside and out, even if she hadn’t received formal training, but hand-to-hand was still difficult for her, and Morgana was trying to teach her all of her own limited knowledge.

They practiced falling to warm up, the blanket of moss helping to soften the ground for their slapping and rolling. “This almost feels like cheating,” Gwen told her, “it’s too comfortable.”

“And that’s a complaint?” said Morgana, smiling. “Let’s try the throw.”

Gwen had been having a hard time using her opponent’s weight and momentum to her advantage, and though her form was mostly correct, she still struggled to master the throw that Morgana was trying to teach her. Morgana had been thrilled when she’d first learned at age fourteen, but she knew the frustration of trying over and over against someone bigger and stronger.

They got into their ready positions, facing each other, and Gwen moved to take Morgana’s arm and twisted, turning Morgana around and trying to lift her with her back and flip Morgana from behind her over her shoulder. Gwen moved too slowly, however, and she wasn’t able to complete the move because of the lack of momentum. She let Morgana slid back to her feet as she gave an irritated sigh.

“You’ve almost got it,” Morgana assured. “You need to stop thinking so much and move a little more quickly. Let your body feel it, and not in your strength, but in your agility.”

Gwen bit her lip and nodded. They readied themselves again. This time Gwen did not narrow her eyes in concentration; she closed them for a moment, relaxing herself, and then opened them before beginning the maneuver. She moved rapidly, twisting and turning smoothly, and Morgana found herself flying forward over Gwen’s shoulder as Gwen pulled her own weight against her.

But as she landed on her back and slapped the ground to minimize the blow, Gwen was still moving forward from the momentum, and she slipped on the moss to tumble on top of Morgana, taking the wind out of them both.

“Sorry,” Gwen gasped. They lay for a moment, catching their breath. Gwen was warm and her fluttering breaths tickled Morgana’s neck in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, despite the fall.

“No, that was excellent,” said Morgana when she could speak again. “Although I should have known there was a catch with the moss being so comfortable.”

Gwen lifted her head and smiled, her face lighting up. Then her expression wavered slightly and she sat up, fussing with the twigs on her shirt and looking at Morgana shyly, out of the corner of her eye.

Morgana watched her, bemused. She knew that Gwen had her awkward, uncertain moments quite often, but it was very rarely with Morgana, and although that showed the level of familiarity and ease in their friendship, sometimes Morgana wished for a change in that relationship, wished – well. Morgana had her responsibilities, and Gwen’s friendship was certainly too precious to lose. Besides, there was no way that she could take advantage of her position as Gwen’s mistress, because even after they had been together for so many years, Gwen still thought of herself as something less than she was. As Morgana had told Merlin, Gwen didn’t think she deserved the things that she wanted or needed, and she would do anything for Morgana if asked, but there were some things that Morgana desired for Gwen’s sake as much as her own – and only if Gwen truly wanted them enough to ask herself.

Still. She felt a slight thrill from seeing Gwen caught off her guard and even a little embarrassed, though Morgana could not figure why. She wished she knew.

“Shall we try again?” she said, sitting up as well. Gwen nodded, and they stood up to continue.

By the time they returned to the castle, dusk was settling in. Morgana realized that in taking care of Gwen and relieving the frustrations of the day, she had all but forgotten her nightmare. She still wondered why it had come on the heels of the unknown, undefined fears of the previous dreams, but although it was still just as frightening, the new one was at least a little more concrete. Perhaps it would return again that night.

After bathing and then dining with Uther, Morgana read in her chambers as Gwen mended a ripped dress. Eventually Morgana retired for the night, weary but content. Let the dangers of the night come, she thought defiantly. She could face them, however terrifying.

*

When Gwen awoke that night, it was not to the sound of Morgana screaming, but to a low rustle in the next room and an uneasy feeling in her stomach. She rose, straining her ears to listen – Morgana did not usually mind making too much noise in her own room even at night, though it was possible that that she was trying not to wake Gwen now that she was sleeping in Morgana’s chambers so regularly. Still, there was something surreptitious about the sounds, and Gwen’s fears were confirmed when she heard the low voice that was undoubtedly not Morgana’s. She crept closer to the door and tried to peer into Morgana’s room.

A man was standing over Morgana in her bed, a candle in one hand. Gwen’s heart clenched at the sight of Morgana’s white face. The man was talking, his voice hurried and threatening, and Gwen immediately began to survey the room for the closest weapon – two, preferably, so that she could toss one to Morgana. Though Uther forbade Morgana from keeping any of the swords she had trained with before, Gwen had been sneaking blades made by her father into the room for years, at Morgana’s request. There were daggers hidden in two of the empty vases, though both were on the other side of the room, and Gwen knew there was an old rapier strapped to the frame of the canopy of Morgana’s bed, but of course retrieving it was out of the question now.

She was searching quickly for other dangerous objects when she glanced back at the man and stifled a gasp. He had shifted, and Gwen could see now that the candle he held was not flickering naturally but glowing with a steady light, and the flame itself was an unearthly green.

He was a sorcerer, then. Gwen went cold at the thought – here it was again, this haunting curse that she could not seem to escape, the whisper of magic hurting herself and those she loved best whenever it appeared. She was helpless against any such thing, and Morgana was as well, which frightened her more than she could say.

She stood, frozen, as the man turned to rummage through a box on top of Morgana’s dressers, still watching her sideways as she nodded her assent. Gwen knew she should do something, but panic was rising inside of her, and she didn’t know what might end up causing Morgana harm – clearly the man didn’t even know that there was anyone else in these chambers, and perhaps that was her advantage. There was another door in Gwen’s part of the rooms leading out to the servant’s passage, though Gwen rarely used it; perhaps she should get help. She could not tear herself away, though, afraid to let Morgana out of her sight.

The man came up with something in his hand, and as he turned back to Morgana, Gwen noticed two startling things in quick succession. Firstly, he held a bright yellow stone that, too, had an unnatural glow to it, and Gwen wondered what it was and why Morgana owned it. But at the same time, as he raised his hand part of his sleeve slid down to his elbow and in the bright glow of the magicked candle, Gwen could see a dark ribbon of ink snaking its way along his arm.

Gwen’s eyes widened, but before she could even make anything of it, the man grabbed Morgana’s wrist She lashed out, crying, “No! You have what you want –”

“Not everything,” said the man grimly, and with a twist of his arm and a spatter of incomprehensible words he vanished, taking Morgana with him so easily that the sheets of her bed were barely ruffled.

Gwen screamed, and, half-blind with tears of fear and anger at herself, she rushed through Morgana’s room into the main corridor. “Help! Someone help!”

Within seconds a guard with a torch had rounded the corner, saying, “My lady?” in a worried voice before stopping at the sight of Gwen.

“The lady Morgana,” she managed to get out, “captured – a sorcerer sneaked into the room –”

The next moments went by in a blur as the alarm was sounded and guards rushed into Morgana’s room, searching, and Gwen could do nothing but lean against the wall to keep herself upright. The next thing she knew, Uther was there, striding down the hall towards her with a look of fury on his face as one of his lieutenants tried to keep up and explain the situation.

“What did you see?” he thundered.

She opened her mouth to let the rush of words flow out, but abruptly, something inside her stilled. The image of the stone in the sorcerer’s hand and the pattern on his arm flashed in her mind, throwing out a further significance there, involving Morgana – and somehow Gwen knew that to let Uther know of any connection of her suspicions would be disastrous.

“Guinevere,” Uther gritted out. “What did you see?”

“A man,” she said finally. “Hooded – his cloak was dark, and I couldn’t see his face. I didn’t see much at all, your highness – he grabbed my lady’s arm and vanished with her before I could even cry out at his presence.” She bowed her head, breathing hard.

Uther closed his eyes for a brief moment, frustrated, then he swept away, barking out orders to his soldiers.

Gwen waited against the wall, her mind racing. Now that she had lied to the king, what did she think she could do? What did her suspicions even mean? The marks on the sorcerer’s arm – that was undoubtedly what Morgana’s dream the night before had shown her, and Gwen did not know how to contend with that fact, the possible truths hidden in it. Perhaps sorcerers could send dreams to certain people. But why would the sorcerer have hinted anything about himself, especially when the dream had not included any explicit clues or threats?

And then there was the stone, and the fact that Morgana’s voice had betrayed certain knowledge of what was happening that Gwen couldn’t begin to understand. Somehow that disturbed her more than the idea of the true dream, and something familiar nagged at the back of her mind. The stone – small, glowing, ethereal and clearly filled with magic –

The memory of hands around her mouth and head flashed in her mind, and she gave an instinctive shudder. Tauren had spoken of a stone. He had left it in Camelot and wanted Gwen to bring it back. How did Morgana come to have it? Unless he had recovered it and Morgana had taken it when she had killed him – but then how had it come back to him before, and why would Morgana want it anyway? Gwen felt dizzy. This was all too much, the collision of horrors in her mind and memory, and she had to lean her forehead against the cool stone of the wall to calm herself.

There weren’t many people that Gwen could trust to handle insinuations of magic and lies well, and Morgana was one of them. The other was most likely asleep in his bed, blissfully ignorant of the situation, at least until the alarm bell sounded. Taking another deep breath to strengthen her resolve, she hurried down the hallway towards Gaius’ chambers.

*

When the sorcerer’s hand wrapped around her arm, Morgana had been whisked away, her vision a blur as she spun through the air. Within moments she was jolted back to reality, landing with a thump in a wood where three other men stood, the sorcerer’s hand still clamped to her. He was breathing heavily, and as she tried to jump up to beat at him, the other men caught her arms and swiftly tied her up.

“This is –” she started, furious, before a tall, dark-haired fellow forced a cloth into her mouth to gag her. She shook her head wildly.

“Now, now,” said the one who had kidnapped her, standing up. “Be still, my lady, and this will be easier.”

“Brogan, we will have to ride from here,” said one of the others to the sorcerer.

“Callum, we need transport,” Brogan said. “Can we not all work together?”

“My strength is sapped,” the other magician admitted. “Helping you enter the castle was much more difficult than we had anticipated. They’ve sounded the alarm already, and we cannot wait for our strength to regain.”

Brogan shot her a swift glance, and indeed, Morgana could faintly hear the warning bell of Camelot. They were not yet far from the castle, then, and her disappearance had been noticed quickly.

She struggled against the bonds as the men their plan discussed in low voices. Finally, Brogan came back over to her and frowned. “I cannot have you fighting me for the ride, Lady Morgana. Sleep.” He put a hand onto her forehead; she tried to move out of the way, but he muttered some words and despite her will, she felt her eyes close and everything went dark.

*

By the time Gwen reached the court physician’s wing, the warning bell was indeed pounding out and Gaius and Merlin were rousing themselves from sleep.

“Gwen?” said Merlin, yawning even as he reached out in worry.

“It’s Morgana – she’s been kidnapped, right in front of my eyes, by a sorcerer,” she blurted.

“Does Uther know?” said Gaius, standing hurriedly.

“Yes – but I couldn’t tell him everything.” Taking a deep breath, she let out the whole story in a fierce rush. When she reached Morgana’s dream and its relation to life, she could tell that Merlin and Gaius were trying not to look at each other, fueling her suspicion.

“Could the sorcerer have sent her the nightmare himself?” she asked nonetheless.

“It is possible,” said Gaius doubtfully, “though I don’t know why anyone would do such a thing.” He frowned. “Did the sorcerer seem to want anything in particular, or just the lady Morgana?”

Gwen let the dream go for a moment and nodded. When she described the stone, Merlin shifted quite obviously, and Gaius threw him a sharp look.

“It’s Tauren’s stone, isn’t it?” she said after a moment of silence.

Merlin looked surprised that she would even know about such things. “I think so,” he said. “Which means that these must be Tauren’s fellow renegade sorcerers, right, Gaius?”

“Most probably.”

“I understand why they would want the stone if it were here – or if they wanted to kidnap Morgana for revenge – but I don’t see how the two relate,” Gwen admitted.

Again, Merlin looked shifty, and Gwen couldn’t help but feel angry. This was no time for secrets – Morgana had been kidnapped, and if they were right, then they were Morgana’s only hope.

“It may not matter,” Gaius put in. He sighed. “I must go to the king. I will try to advise him as much as possible without giving too much away.”

“And I’ll go try to find out more information on Tauren’s former band,” said Merlin, also standing. “Gwen, you should rest a while, sleep in my room.”

Gwen opened her mouth to protest, but suddenly the idea of a bed sounded like all she could manage. She nodded. Merlin put out a hand to grasp her shoulder, comforting, then he and Gaius left, and it was all Gwen could do to stumble into Merlin’s quarters and collapse into the bed.

The sun had barely risen when Gwen awoke, still tired but too fiercely determined to keep sleeping. She left Merlin’s room and found that Merlin and Gaius had returned.

“What is being done?”

“Oh good, you’re awake,” said Merlin.

“Has anything happened?” Gwen demanded. “You should have woken –”

“No,” Gaius assured, if such an answer could truly be reassuring. “Uther has sent out the first flank of knights, but they don’t have much direction, unfortunately.”

“Neither do we,” Merlin added. “The renegades are said to be powerful enough to transport themselves at least three miles in one go, which gives us a large range already – and that’s only the starting point, assuming her kidnapper met up with others who had horses.”

Gwen’s heart sank. “Will all the knights of Camelot be enough to scour such a territory?” she said, though she knew the answer herself.

Gaius didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned forward, peering at her. “Gwen,” he said carefully. “Did Morgana describe the remainder of her last nightmare to you?”

“Yes,” said Gwen, “but why would that be important?”

“I fear – and have for some time, I must admit – that the lady Morgana has the seer’s gift,” said Gaius heavily.

Despite her feelings about magic, Gwen’s instinctive reaction was a rush of fear not for herself, but for Morgana, for the fate she might encounter at the hands of Uther. Her next thought was to deny it vehemently – she knew Morgana, knew her better than anyone else did – there could not be this hidden side to her, especially not relating to a danger, like magic, that had brought them all so much pain.

“No,” she found herself saying. “No, she can’t, I would know –”

“It is doubtful that even Morgana herself knows the full extent of her powers,” Gaius said gently. “And perhaps she knew how much the idea could hurt you.” Beside him, Merlin nodded somberly. It explained the conspiratorial glances, at least.

Gwen shook her head again, but she couldn’t help a little voice inside her beginning to murmur that maybe it was true.

“Gwen,” said Merlin, worried but insistent. “I know what this means, but if we’re to help Morgana, we need to move as fast as we can. Is there anything she mentioned that could help?”

“The man with the blue markings,” she said, “and a giant stone table in the middle of a clearing. Other than that, no. That doesn’t help, does it.”

Gaius frowned. “If only it were that simple, that Morgana’s dreams would give us directions to her whereabouts.”

Merlin shook his head and stood up, beginning to pace around the workshop. “There has to be a way,” he muttered. “There must…” His gaze shot up to meet Gaius’ eyes. “The stone! If I could feel –”

“But would you be able to, from this far?” said Gaius after a moment, puzzling. “The traces –”

“I’m sure there’s something I could find.”

“Do you remember what it felt like after all this time?”

“Maybe not, but –”

Gwen threw her hands up. “Will someone fill me in, or are you going to continue speaking in half-sentences?”

They both looked at her guiltily, then back at each other. Gaius quirked an eyebrow and Merlin nodded, seemingly coming to a decision.

Merlin turned and gave her a wry, somehow bitter smile. “This is not the way I wanted to do this, but there’s no time so this may just be a day of revelations,” he said. “Gwen, I don’t know how to tell you this, especially with everything that’s happened with your family, but –”

And suddenly he didn’t have to tell her anything – like Morgana, it was as if she had known for some time, in the back of her head, and it had never needed to come to the front of her mind because that was too close, too dangerous and harmful. “Oh,” she said, and Merlin shut his mouth quickly. “Oh.”

“Gwen?”

“You –” She burst out laughing, unexpectedly, the craziness and chaos of the night catching up with her in this ridiculous, horrible situation. Gaius and Merlin looked worried, and her laughs sounded desperate even to her. “Oh, don’t even tell me, I don’t want to know,” she said when she had caught her breath. “I don’t think I want to have this talk again. I have enough trouble with such conversations as it is.”

Merlin’s face broke out into a smile. Gwen was somehow surprised to see there was no sudden transformation, and he still looked the same – he was still Merlin, her friend, someone she trusted and cared for, and who had helped her as much as she had helped him. At the moment, in this state of rapid-fire decisions and disregard for consequences, the differences didn’t matter.

“Well,” she said, “how exactly are we going to explain all of this to Arthur?”

*

Morgana awoke to bright sunlight. She squinted to see the renegades around her, dismounting from their horses. Brogan was in front, having just awoken her, and he lifted her off the horse.

“This is not our final destination,” he told her as he helped her sit down near a tree and untied the gag. “Only a break from riding all night.”

“And what is our destination?” Morgana spit out, then coughed, trying to clear her mouth and throat. “Do you need a special place to kill me or hold me for ransom?”

Brogan laughed. “Is that what you thought, my lady? Naturally, Tauren was indeed driven by the thought of gold and regicide, which was why our band split in half before his expedition into Camelot. Quite fortunate for my people, in the end.” Brogan rummaged in his pack for bread and cheese, and he quickly tied Morgana to the tree so that he could release her hands. Her hunger kept from arguing. After she had finished, she looked up to see Brogan watching her.

“Then what do you desire from the king?” Morgana said, angry but also curious. She could not think of a single reason that these men would want to keep her besides revenge.

“Oh no, our business is with you.”

“With me?”

“We have heard of your gifts, Lady Morgana,” he said.

Morgana swallowed. “What gifts, precisely?”

“Your prophetic dreams – nightmares, they are called by many, but that is only because the truth can be so frightening. And not only do your dreams tell you of calamity and disaster, but according to our sources in Camelot, they are always about magic. That is our business.”

Morgana thought of lying about the dreams, but something told her that it was no use. “So you have kidnapped me to keep my information away from the king?”

“That is a welcome benefit,” Brogan agreed. “But we have a deeper motive.” He was still looking hard at her, his eyes sharp and speculative. “Your dreams may affect us, and we want that knowledge as well. And from what we understand, there are some dreams that you are not yet able to interpret in any way.”

“Yes,” Morgana admitted. Even if her ordinary nightmares were confusing, the unspeakable vague dreams eluded her even further.

“We can help with that. The place we are taking you will explain everything.” Brogan’s voice sounded almost comforting. “It will lift a burden from your mind, and it will help us as well. Mutually beneficial, you see.”

He leaned in towards her. “There is a storm coming,” he said, making Morgana shiver, his voice low and tense, “and you, my Lady Morgana, are to be our oracle.”

*

“You,” said Arthur, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before blinking and looking at Merlin and Gwen again, “what?”

Merlin said, “We think we know how to find Morgana, but we can’t go to the king. And your knights won’t be able to do this alone.”

Arthur sighed. He looked exhausted. “You didn’t need to tell me that,” he said. “This is a hopeless search anyway, given we’re searching for magicians with absolutely no clue as to their identity or direction, it’s – wait. You know how to find her?”

“Yes,” said Gwen.

“How?”

Merlin took a deep breath. “That’s the problem. We, um. Can’t tell you.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up, and he glanced between them. “Excuse me?” he said finally, his voice soft and dangerous.

Merlin opened his mouth again, but Gwen spoke first. “Sire,” she said, knowing that she looked as bad as she felt, and trying to convey that the need for urgency far outweighed any other considerations. “It’s too difficult to explain, and if we’re to save her, we need you to trust us. Please.”

Arthur considered her, his face unreadable. They all had their different ways of talking to him and persuading him: Morgana teased and goaded, Merlin argued, but Gwen – Arthur listened to Gwen. She didn’t quite know why, except perhaps he realized that since she so rarely asked for anything, her requests mattered that much more.

“You can’t expect me to explain this to my father,” said Arthur quietly.

Merlin let his breath out in a puff of relief. “Which is why we should leave now.” Arthur gave a short nod.

They readied themselves rapidly, Gaius packing food and medicines for them, and before Gwen knew it they were at the gates with horses fully saddled. The guards looked worried as they trotted through, but Arthur held his head up high, radiating certainty and conviction, and communication now was in such disarray that no one could know this hadn’t been sanctioned by the king.

They rode with Merlin leading and every so often he stopped ahead and looked surreptitiously at his palms. Gwen had not watched him perform the spell – it was still too soon and too close for her to face the prospect of magic – but apparently he had a feel for the stone, especially when it was used, and he was able to charm his hands to respond to the direction in which they went. It wasn’t the most efficient way of traveling, but it was the best they could do with the current situation and trying to keep Arthur from finding out.

Where the path was wide enough, Arthur rode up alongside Gwen, every so often giving her thoughtful looks that she tried to ignore.

“Do you know where we’re going, then?” said Arthur conversationally after some time.

“Not exactly, sire.”

“Ah. And you’re willing to just trust that we’re going the right way?”

“It seems the only choice.”

“Does Merlin know? Or was it some hint from Morgana before she was taken?”

“Arthur –”

He shot her a startled glance then, because while Merlin could call him that and Gwen could let herself say her mistress’ name, she had never taken that kind of liberty with the prince, no matter what kind of understanding existed between them. “I mean – oh, I shouldn’t call you that, I’m so sorry, I meant, sire –”

She stopped because Arthur was chuckling, his eyes bloodshot and just a little wild but his face relaxing. “Given that I’m letting you and Merlin lead me blindly through the forest on what is likely a wild goose chase to find Morgana, I might not even deserve the title,” he remarked with another snort, and left it at that.

They rode on between the tall, dark trees, silent except for the sounds of the forest and the snorts of the horses, trying to keep their minds blank and their path steady, until the light that filtered through the leaves began to dim.
 

part II