The next two weeks were, perhaps, the busiest of Arthur’s short life. Alongside overseeing preparations for his coronation, he was receiving counsel from many members of his court, riding out each and every day on patrol, and spending every other free minute, learning about magic from Merlin.
It was during one of those many lessons, that Merlin was teaching Arthur about the magical Art of Seeing – predicting the future. Merlin was in two minds about this lesson, for several reasons. Firstly, he was still hiding his knowledge of Arthur’s destiny from the King; he wasn’t sure if Arthur was prepared for the truth just yet. Certainly the enormity of the task was likely to perturb Arthur somewhat, and with Uther’s memory still so fresh in the young King’s mind, it was unlikely that he would be completely receptive to magic in his kingdom, so soon into his reign. Secondly, there was the problem of Morgana. Merlin had learnt of the young Seer’s powers soon after his arrival at the castle, but recently they had begun to grow, to develop into Magic. Merlin had been keeping her secret from Uther, and he did not know how Arthur would react to such news.
Still, Arthur had to know about the art of foretelling the future, even if those destinies that had been foretold had to remain in Merlin’s mind alone. He picked up his big magic book, and turned to the chapter on Seers.
“There are, among the mortal men, those who posses the power to see what is to come. These Seers may foretell the future as it will truly be, the only destiny possessed by the object, or they may see an incomplete future, one that will only come to pass when one fork of a crossroad is chosen.”
Arthur was looking at Merlin with a look of confusion. Admittedly the language of the old magic book was a little arcane, perhaps too dense to understand perfectly on the first pass, but Merlin had thought Arthur was getting used to the book.
“You’re going to nee to explain it slightly more simply, Merlin.”
Merlin took a deep breath. “The book is talking about Seers. Seers have a special type of magic, and they can use it to tell the future. That’s called prophecy. What the book is saying is that sometimes, that prophecy is certain to happen; there is no way to prevent it. The object, that’s the person whom the prophecy is centred on, has a specific path that their future is headed to. That’s called a destiny. But, other times, that prophecy is the resulting future which will happen after one path is chosen, as opposed to say another path. So, a prophecy might be that you were going to meet bandits in the woods, but that would only happen if you decided to ride south, instead of north. Your choices still control those aspects of your future.”
Merlin looked back into Arthur’s face, and saw the look of confusion hadn’t been entirely removed, and yet it was also accompanied by a sort of understanding.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
---Flashback---
It had been three, maybe four years ago now, when Morgana had finally realised the true extent of her powers. And being untrained, she found it considerably more difficult than Merlin did to hide them.
It was one day near Midwinter, when Merlin witnessed her practising magic. He had been walking past her rooms, when he saw the bright flash of blue light. She was incredibly lucky that no one else had been present to witness her, in Uther’s eyes at least, indiscretion. Merlin had been contemplating walking on, acting as if nothing had changed, but then he heard his name being called.
“Merlin?”
Morgana’s voice made him turn, and their eyes met, momentarily, conveying all the information necessary – Merlin had witnessed Morgana performing magic.
“Please, Merlin.” She was pleading with him, not to run and tell Arthur or Uther. To keep her secret hidden. She didn’t even know about his magic, and how well he kept that secret.
“It’s alright, Morgana, I won’t tell. But you can’t practise magic in the castle, it’s too dangerous.” She nodded. Merlin didn’t know that Uther’s ward was so afraid of the King.
“But I can’t control it, I don’t know how, and I have no one to help me.”
He could tell she was scared, truly scared of her powers, of what she could do, of being detected. He didn’t even have to contemplate it; he knew what he had to do.
“I can help you.”
---/flashback---
And so Merlin had taken it upon himself to teach Morgana about magic, and to help her control, and keep secret, her magic. As they worked together, they developed a bond, borne out of shared experiences, shared secrets. A bond that grew deeper and deeper, until one morning, Merlin had awoken in Morgana’s bed.
---flashback---
He wasn’t completely sure how it had happened. He had woken up in Morgana’s bed, his head aching, and his clothes absent from his body. It came back to his as his head began to pound. He had drunk the wine at last night’s festivities. It had been Arthur’s birthday, and when the feast proper had ended, the servants had been relieved of their duties, permitted to have a good time.
He had been leaning against a wall, for support, watching Gwen chatting amiably with a group of young, eligible men, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked around, half-expecting Arthur, and a request to wash some shirt for tomorrow, but instead his eyes met Morgana’s.
She was intoxicated too, alcohol tingeing her breath, causing her cheeks to take on a rosy hue. Quietly, she pulled him away from the party, and he followed her to her chambers.
He would have been lying if he claimed he hadn’t wanted this, hadn’t fantasised about it. When they finally entered her rooms, there mouths collided hungrily, and their need took over.
And so he had woken in Morgana’s bed. She was still sleeping, snoring softly into the pillow. He gathered his clothes and sneaked out, before Gwen walking in and started asking questions. He had to get to his own duties too, and less than an hour later, hangover cure already self-administered, he was stoking Arthur’s fire.
---
They hadn’t talked about it, it had just become an understanding, and so, most mornings, Merlin had found himself slipping out of Morgana’s chambers. Gwen had discovered him, not long after, but Gwen was not one to spill her Lady’s secrets. And Gaius had quickly noticed that Merlin was more often absent from his bed than not, but it had taken him longer to ascertain the truth.
Slowly, and surely, their relationship had deepened, from servant, through friendship, to something akin to love.
---/flashback---
Merlin and Morgana had been lovers for more than two years, unbeknownst to all but Gwen and Gaius, before Uther had died. Their relationship had already been bearing the strain of secrecy, but the night after Uther’s death, came an event that tore them apart.
---flashback---
“No. Uther died a natural death, Morgana, he had a shortened life, but his death was natural. It was not brought on by magical means, so no! I could not have done anything to stop it, prevent it or cure it. He’s dead, Morgana, why can’t you accept that?”
They were arguing, of course they were. In the last six months, it was all they had ever done. It has started by them testing each other’s magic, in secret. And they became competitive in other ways too, but eventually all the fun had seeped out of it, out of the secrecy of their magics, their relationship, of everything, and they had just begun to argue.
“If you do not understand what Uther’s death means to me, Merlin, you’re not the man I thought you were.”
Merlin remained silent. There eyes locked, in an intense battle, each trying to convey their point to the other. The link turned into a magical bond, both their eyes turning golden, as they physically held on another with their stares.
And then Morgana’s eyes flashed red.
Merlin had to blink, had to let the spell drop. Red – the colour of evil magic – was one he had only battled against when fighting the sorceress Nimeuh. He couldn’t bear to see Morgana turn evil, and he found himself looking at the floor.
“Arthur will no more accept you or your kind than Uther did. And with Uther dead, I have no more reasons to stay here. Mark my words, Merlin, magic will never return to Camelot until the line of the Pendragon’s is at an end.”
Merlin jerked his head up, to look at the spot where Morgana had been standing. But she had gone, almost as if she had vanished into thin air. With her words still ringing in his ears, he fled the room.
---/flashback---
He hadn’t spoken to her since. Thirteen days had passed, since Uther’s death, and he hadn’t been able to speak to Morgana since. He would have expected such a separation to tear his heart apart, to turn his world upside down, to enact all those clichés he had head accompanied a broken heart. But he wasn’t sure his heart was broken. Something was missing, granted, but he couldn’t put a finger on what it was.
“Merlin.”
The King’s characteristic petulance, now so often hidden, brought Merlin’s attention back to the present, and to his lesson with Arthur.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Almost an hour later, a knocking was heard at Arthur’s door.
“Come in.”
Around the doorframe, appeared Gwen.
“Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, the Lady Morgana requests an audience. She asks, if it would not be too bold, that you come to her chambers?”
“Of course,” replied Arthur with a barely audible sign as he rose, and followed Gwen out of the room.
“Guinevere,” he addressed her, as he always did, using her full name. “What does she want, this time?”
“I’m sorry, Sire, I think My Lady would like to tell you that herself.”
“Yes, Yes.” Arthur’s thoughts overcame him, and they walked to Morgana’s chambers in silence, where Arthur found Morgana, as well as several travelling cases.
“Morgana?” Arthur’s address made the brunette look up, and rise, before falling into a deep curtsey.
“Your Majesty.”
Arthur waved his hand. “Please, you only ever called me Arthur; we don’t need to begin with formalities now. You requested my presence, I came. I see you have packed.”
Morgana nodded. “I intend to go away for a while, visit some friends in the south of this land. I felt I was duty bound to inform you of this choice.”
“You will always do as you please, Morgana, have no fears that I may try and stop you. I only ask that you remember that you are always welcome here, as long as I am King.” Arthur thought he saw a strange look in Morgana’s eyes, almost a victorious one, but it was gone extraordinarily quickly, and he dismissed it as a trick of the light. He chose to leave Morgana alone in her room, to finish her packing, and, since he was hungry, went in search of some food.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
News of Morgana’s impending departure spread quickly throughout the castle, reaching the ears of the young warlock, doing some packing of his own. The following afternoon, after Arthur was crowned, he would be moving into his own chambers, and leaving the small room he occupied in Gaius’ rooms. It was an odd feeling, leaving the old man he had lived for so long with, the old man he had come to see as a father figure. But he was sure he would still see Gaius, he could see him at any time, simply by ‘popping along’ to these rooms he knew so well.
Morgana’s departure was slightly more worrying for him. He didn’t know why she was leaving, they were not currently on speaking terms, and the words she had last spoken to him were still clear in his head. Was Morgana planning a plot against Camelot? A plot that would return magic to the Kingdom, at the cost of Arthur’s life?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A little way away, a maidservant was standing on the battlements, staring at the Lower City. Since her father had died, she had lived in the castle’s servant’s quarters, and it had been little trouble to pack the few possessions she had, in preparation for her departure.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about leaving her home, leaving behind the city she had grown in, the city she loved. And she would be leaving friends behind too, people she loved. But she was only a servant, employed to so the bidding of her mistress, and her mistress had decided to leave this place, and she must go along. They would come back, some day, her mistress had said. This would not be the last time she would see Camelot. But she would miss it.
She heard a quite rustling somewhere to her right, and then footfalls approaching her. She hoped it wasn’t the Watch. Technically, she wasn’t supposed to be up here.
“Hello.” Said a voice, owned by both the person to her right, and the King of Camelot.
“Your Majesty.” She quickly descended into a curtsey, unsure of Arthur’s intention.
“And why are you up here so late?”
“I was thinking, sire. I am not so sure I wish to leave this place.” If it had been anyone else, she wasn’t sure she would have been so blunt, and yet, it felt right to tell Arthur the truth.
“Then why are you going?” he asked simply.
“It is my duty. My mistress has requested I leave with her, and so I shall.”
“Duty,” mused Arthur. He knew a thing or two about duty; it was why he was on the battlements that night, looking over the city he ruled.
“If I could be so bold,” she paused, and he nodded his head slightly, “why are you here, Your Majesty?”
“I came up here to think too. About all those people down there,” he gestured at the houses below, “my subjects, those people who will watch me crowned their King tomorrow. Will I be a good King, do you think?”
She was unsure of how to answer. Truth be told, he was still a little lacking in experience, for all that he had grown since he had become Crown Prince. He was fair, just and noble, and a good leader. “Yes, Sire, I think you will be a good King.”
“Then why don’t I make sure you’re here to ensure that?”
She looked at him confused.
“I’m sure your mistress will let you stay in Camelot, if you ask her. And if she still insists that you follow here, why don’t I have a quiet word. I’m sure the castle can find another place for a hard-working, fair, and just person like you.”
He held his hand out, and she took it, expecting them to shake on it, but he raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it.
“When your father died, I promised you, you would always have work and a home in this castle. If I am to be a good King, I must keep my promises, and I want you around to see that I do so.”
Their eyes met, and an unbreakable understanding formed. As their eyes held, however, their faces began to creep nearer to each others, and both parties had forgotten that their hands were still entwined. The looked deeply into each other’s eyes, slowly closing that gap between their lips, when someone coughed behind them.
They jumped apart, as if electrocuted, and turned to face the guard behind them, moderately annoyed at being disturbed. As it turned out, there had been a fracas in the Lower City, and the Palace Guard wanted to know what to do with the troublemakers they had apprehended.
When the maidservant entered her chamber, and eventually fell asleep, her dreams were filled with a handsome King, and of a kiss that never was.
It was during one of those many lessons, that Merlin was teaching Arthur about the magical Art of Seeing – predicting the future. Merlin was in two minds about this lesson, for several reasons. Firstly, he was still hiding his knowledge of Arthur’s destiny from the King; he wasn’t sure if Arthur was prepared for the truth just yet. Certainly the enormity of the task was likely to perturb Arthur somewhat, and with Uther’s memory still so fresh in the young King’s mind, it was unlikely that he would be completely receptive to magic in his kingdom, so soon into his reign. Secondly, there was the problem of Morgana. Merlin had learnt of the young Seer’s powers soon after his arrival at the castle, but recently they had begun to grow, to develop into Magic. Merlin had been keeping her secret from Uther, and he did not know how Arthur would react to such news.
Still, Arthur had to know about the art of foretelling the future, even if those destinies that had been foretold had to remain in Merlin’s mind alone. He picked up his big magic book, and turned to the chapter on Seers.
“There are, among the mortal men, those who posses the power to see what is to come. These Seers may foretell the future as it will truly be, the only destiny possessed by the object, or they may see an incomplete future, one that will only come to pass when one fork of a crossroad is chosen.”
Arthur was looking at Merlin with a look of confusion. Admittedly the language of the old magic book was a little arcane, perhaps too dense to understand perfectly on the first pass, but Merlin had thought Arthur was getting used to the book.
“You’re going to nee to explain it slightly more simply, Merlin.”
Merlin took a deep breath. “The book is talking about Seers. Seers have a special type of magic, and they can use it to tell the future. That’s called prophecy. What the book is saying is that sometimes, that prophecy is certain to happen; there is no way to prevent it. The object, that’s the person whom the prophecy is centred on, has a specific path that their future is headed to. That’s called a destiny. But, other times, that prophecy is the resulting future which will happen after one path is chosen, as opposed to say another path. So, a prophecy might be that you were going to meet bandits in the woods, but that would only happen if you decided to ride south, instead of north. Your choices still control those aspects of your future.”
Merlin looked back into Arthur’s face, and saw the look of confusion hadn’t been entirely removed, and yet it was also accompanied by a sort of understanding.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
---Flashback---
It had been three, maybe four years ago now, when Morgana had finally realised the true extent of her powers. And being untrained, she found it considerably more difficult than Merlin did to hide them.
It was one day near Midwinter, when Merlin witnessed her practising magic. He had been walking past her rooms, when he saw the bright flash of blue light. She was incredibly lucky that no one else had been present to witness her, in Uther’s eyes at least, indiscretion. Merlin had been contemplating walking on, acting as if nothing had changed, but then he heard his name being called.
“Merlin?”
Morgana’s voice made him turn, and their eyes met, momentarily, conveying all the information necessary – Merlin had witnessed Morgana performing magic.
“Please, Merlin.” She was pleading with him, not to run and tell Arthur or Uther. To keep her secret hidden. She didn’t even know about his magic, and how well he kept that secret.
“It’s alright, Morgana, I won’t tell. But you can’t practise magic in the castle, it’s too dangerous.” She nodded. Merlin didn’t know that Uther’s ward was so afraid of the King.
“But I can’t control it, I don’t know how, and I have no one to help me.”
He could tell she was scared, truly scared of her powers, of what she could do, of being detected. He didn’t even have to contemplate it; he knew what he had to do.
“I can help you.”
---/flashback---
And so Merlin had taken it upon himself to teach Morgana about magic, and to help her control, and keep secret, her magic. As they worked together, they developed a bond, borne out of shared experiences, shared secrets. A bond that grew deeper and deeper, until one morning, Merlin had awoken in Morgana’s bed.
---flashback---
He wasn’t completely sure how it had happened. He had woken up in Morgana’s bed, his head aching, and his clothes absent from his body. It came back to his as his head began to pound. He had drunk the wine at last night’s festivities. It had been Arthur’s birthday, and when the feast proper had ended, the servants had been relieved of their duties, permitted to have a good time.
He had been leaning against a wall, for support, watching Gwen chatting amiably with a group of young, eligible men, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked around, half-expecting Arthur, and a request to wash some shirt for tomorrow, but instead his eyes met Morgana’s.
She was intoxicated too, alcohol tingeing her breath, causing her cheeks to take on a rosy hue. Quietly, she pulled him away from the party, and he followed her to her chambers.
He would have been lying if he claimed he hadn’t wanted this, hadn’t fantasised about it. When they finally entered her rooms, there mouths collided hungrily, and their need took over.
And so he had woken in Morgana’s bed. She was still sleeping, snoring softly into the pillow. He gathered his clothes and sneaked out, before Gwen walking in and started asking questions. He had to get to his own duties too, and less than an hour later, hangover cure already self-administered, he was stoking Arthur’s fire.
---
They hadn’t talked about it, it had just become an understanding, and so, most mornings, Merlin had found himself slipping out of Morgana’s chambers. Gwen had discovered him, not long after, but Gwen was not one to spill her Lady’s secrets. And Gaius had quickly noticed that Merlin was more often absent from his bed than not, but it had taken him longer to ascertain the truth.
Slowly, and surely, their relationship had deepened, from servant, through friendship, to something akin to love.
---/flashback---
Merlin and Morgana had been lovers for more than two years, unbeknownst to all but Gwen and Gaius, before Uther had died. Their relationship had already been bearing the strain of secrecy, but the night after Uther’s death, came an event that tore them apart.
---flashback---
“No. Uther died a natural death, Morgana, he had a shortened life, but his death was natural. It was not brought on by magical means, so no! I could not have done anything to stop it, prevent it or cure it. He’s dead, Morgana, why can’t you accept that?”
They were arguing, of course they were. In the last six months, it was all they had ever done. It has started by them testing each other’s magic, in secret. And they became competitive in other ways too, but eventually all the fun had seeped out of it, out of the secrecy of their magics, their relationship, of everything, and they had just begun to argue.
“If you do not understand what Uther’s death means to me, Merlin, you’re not the man I thought you were.”
Merlin remained silent. There eyes locked, in an intense battle, each trying to convey their point to the other. The link turned into a magical bond, both their eyes turning golden, as they physically held on another with their stares.
And then Morgana’s eyes flashed red.
Merlin had to blink, had to let the spell drop. Red – the colour of evil magic – was one he had only battled against when fighting the sorceress Nimeuh. He couldn’t bear to see Morgana turn evil, and he found himself looking at the floor.
“Arthur will no more accept you or your kind than Uther did. And with Uther dead, I have no more reasons to stay here. Mark my words, Merlin, magic will never return to Camelot until the line of the Pendragon’s is at an end.”
Merlin jerked his head up, to look at the spot where Morgana had been standing. But she had gone, almost as if she had vanished into thin air. With her words still ringing in his ears, he fled the room.
---/flashback---
He hadn’t spoken to her since. Thirteen days had passed, since Uther’s death, and he hadn’t been able to speak to Morgana since. He would have expected such a separation to tear his heart apart, to turn his world upside down, to enact all those clichés he had head accompanied a broken heart. But he wasn’t sure his heart was broken. Something was missing, granted, but he couldn’t put a finger on what it was.
“Merlin.”
The King’s characteristic petulance, now so often hidden, brought Merlin’s attention back to the present, and to his lesson with Arthur.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Almost an hour later, a knocking was heard at Arthur’s door.
“Come in.”
Around the doorframe, appeared Gwen.
“Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, the Lady Morgana requests an audience. She asks, if it would not be too bold, that you come to her chambers?”
“Of course,” replied Arthur with a barely audible sign as he rose, and followed Gwen out of the room.
“Guinevere,” he addressed her, as he always did, using her full name. “What does she want, this time?”
“I’m sorry, Sire, I think My Lady would like to tell you that herself.”
“Yes, Yes.” Arthur’s thoughts overcame him, and they walked to Morgana’s chambers in silence, where Arthur found Morgana, as well as several travelling cases.
“Morgana?” Arthur’s address made the brunette look up, and rise, before falling into a deep curtsey.
“Your Majesty.”
Arthur waved his hand. “Please, you only ever called me Arthur; we don’t need to begin with formalities now. You requested my presence, I came. I see you have packed.”
Morgana nodded. “I intend to go away for a while, visit some friends in the south of this land. I felt I was duty bound to inform you of this choice.”
“You will always do as you please, Morgana, have no fears that I may try and stop you. I only ask that you remember that you are always welcome here, as long as I am King.” Arthur thought he saw a strange look in Morgana’s eyes, almost a victorious one, but it was gone extraordinarily quickly, and he dismissed it as a trick of the light. He chose to leave Morgana alone in her room, to finish her packing, and, since he was hungry, went in search of some food.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
News of Morgana’s impending departure spread quickly throughout the castle, reaching the ears of the young warlock, doing some packing of his own. The following afternoon, after Arthur was crowned, he would be moving into his own chambers, and leaving the small room he occupied in Gaius’ rooms. It was an odd feeling, leaving the old man he had lived for so long with, the old man he had come to see as a father figure. But he was sure he would still see Gaius, he could see him at any time, simply by ‘popping along’ to these rooms he knew so well.
Morgana’s departure was slightly more worrying for him. He didn’t know why she was leaving, they were not currently on speaking terms, and the words she had last spoken to him were still clear in his head. Was Morgana planning a plot against Camelot? A plot that would return magic to the Kingdom, at the cost of Arthur’s life?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A little way away, a maidservant was standing on the battlements, staring at the Lower City. Since her father had died, she had lived in the castle’s servant’s quarters, and it had been little trouble to pack the few possessions she had, in preparation for her departure.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about leaving her home, leaving behind the city she had grown in, the city she loved. And she would be leaving friends behind too, people she loved. But she was only a servant, employed to so the bidding of her mistress, and her mistress had decided to leave this place, and she must go along. They would come back, some day, her mistress had said. This would not be the last time she would see Camelot. But she would miss it.
She heard a quite rustling somewhere to her right, and then footfalls approaching her. She hoped it wasn’t the Watch. Technically, she wasn’t supposed to be up here.
“Hello.” Said a voice, owned by both the person to her right, and the King of Camelot.
“Your Majesty.” She quickly descended into a curtsey, unsure of Arthur’s intention.
“And why are you up here so late?”
“I was thinking, sire. I am not so sure I wish to leave this place.” If it had been anyone else, she wasn’t sure she would have been so blunt, and yet, it felt right to tell Arthur the truth.
“Then why are you going?” he asked simply.
“It is my duty. My mistress has requested I leave with her, and so I shall.”
“Duty,” mused Arthur. He knew a thing or two about duty; it was why he was on the battlements that night, looking over the city he ruled.
“If I could be so bold,” she paused, and he nodded his head slightly, “why are you here, Your Majesty?”
“I came up here to think too. About all those people down there,” he gestured at the houses below, “my subjects, those people who will watch me crowned their King tomorrow. Will I be a good King, do you think?”
She was unsure of how to answer. Truth be told, he was still a little lacking in experience, for all that he had grown since he had become Crown Prince. He was fair, just and noble, and a good leader. “Yes, Sire, I think you will be a good King.”
“Then why don’t I make sure you’re here to ensure that?”
She looked at him confused.
“I’m sure your mistress will let you stay in Camelot, if you ask her. And if she still insists that you follow here, why don’t I have a quiet word. I’m sure the castle can find another place for a hard-working, fair, and just person like you.”
He held his hand out, and she took it, expecting them to shake on it, but he raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it.
“When your father died, I promised you, you would always have work and a home in this castle. If I am to be a good King, I must keep my promises, and I want you around to see that I do so.”
Their eyes met, and an unbreakable understanding formed. As their eyes held, however, their faces began to creep nearer to each others, and both parties had forgotten that their hands were still entwined. The looked deeply into each other’s eyes, slowly closing that gap between their lips, when someone coughed behind them.
They jumped apart, as if electrocuted, and turned to face the guard behind them, moderately annoyed at being disturbed. As it turned out, there had been a fracas in the Lower City, and the Palace Guard wanted to know what to do with the troublemakers they had apprehended.
When the maidservant entered her chamber, and eventually fell asleep, her dreams were filled with a handsome King, and of a kiss that never was.