Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The pounding against the throne room doors echoed like thunder.

Arthur gripped the hilt of his sword tighter, his knuckles white with strain. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but his stance did not falter. Every muscle in his body was coiled to fight, even if he had to do it alone.

"They are almost through," Merlin said quietly, standing near the edge of the room. His voice was steady, but his hands trembled at his sides.

Arthur cast a glance at Uther's still form, lying on a hastily arranged cot. His father had not stirred in hours. Cursed into unnatural sleep, just like nearly everyone else in Camelot.

Everyone except Arthur, Merlin, and Morgana.

Morgana sat huddled against the far wall, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, trying to make herself smaller. Her eyes were wide, unblinking, locked onto the heavy doors rattling under the assault of cursed knights.

The guilt gnawed at her so violently it made her nauseous.

She could feel it now, so clearly she wondered how she had ever missed it before — the dark, pulsing thread of magic that bound her to the spell. Every heartbeat that slowed in Camelot. Every sleeping breath. Every empty hallway.

It was tied to her.

It was her fault.

She squeezed her hands into fists so hard her nails dug crescents into her palms. She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear the magic out of her veins with her bare hands. She wanted to fix it.

But it was too late.

Arthur staggered slightly and caught himself on the back of the throne. Merlin moved closer, instinctively ready to catch him if he fell.

"You should rest," Merlin said, though he knew it was useless.

Arthur gave a short, bitter laugh. "Rest while Camelot falls?"

"You cannot fight magic with a sword," Merlin said. "Even you are not that stubborn."

Arthur gave him a tired look, the edges of his sharp features blurred by exhaustion. "Watch me."

Another crash shook the doors. Dust drifted from the ceiling. The spell was eating away at Arthur’s strength now too, dragging him down like it had everyone else. Soon there would be no one left awake.

Except for Merlin.

And Morgana.

Merlin's hand brushed against the hidden pocket inside his jacket. His fingers closed around the small glass vial tucked safely there. The poison Gaius had given him. Enough to end the curse. Enough to end her.

He closed his eyes briefly.

He could not do it.

Not because he was a coward. Not because he did not understand the stakes.

But because he could not bring himself to kill her.

Not Morgana.

Not the girl who had once protected him from Arthur’s teasing without a second thought. Who had stood up to Uther when no one else dared. Who had trusted him enough to share her deepest fears when her dreams first turned dark.

He loved her.

He had never dared to name it before. Not until now, standing on the edge of losing everything.

Another crash sounded.

Arthur stumbled forward, barely catching himself. His sword slipped from his hand and clattered against the stone floor.

Merlin caught him under the arms and lowered him carefully to the ground.

Arthur’s eyes fluttered open for a moment. "Protect them," he mumbled, before sliding into unconsciousness.

Merlin placed him gently beside Uther, heart breaking in his chest.

The room was too quiet.

Merlin turned.

Morgana was standing now, her face pale and luminous in the dying firelight. She was trembling, but she met his gaze with a terrible clarity.

"You have it," she said, voice raw.

Merlin said nothing.

Her eyes darted to his jacket. "The poison," she said, almost a whisper. A sad, knowing look crossed her face. "You were always too good at hiding things when you were scared."

Merlin froze, shocked by how easily she had seen through him.

Still, he said nothing.

"Give it to me," Morgana whispered.

He shook his head. "There must be another way."

"There is not."

She took a step closer. Her hands were shaking, but her shoulders were square.

"If you do not end this, Merlin," she said, "everyone will die. Arthur. Gwen. Gaius. The people. I will not let that happen."

Tears burned at the back of Merlin’s throat. "I cannot," he said, voice cracking.

Morgana’s face softened, but there was no pity in her eyes. Only sorrow.

"You are already dying," she said gently. "The spell is eating at you too. You can barely stand."

It was true.

Merlin could feel the weight of it dragging at his limbs, dulling his senses, slowing his heartbeat. Soon he would fall too.

And then there would be no one left.

Morgana moved closer. Close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin. Her hand reached out and brushed his, feather-light.

"Please," she said.

Merlin looked at her. Really looked at her.

The girl who was already half a queen, who had carried so much pain alone, who had been twisted by the lies of those she trusted, and who was now choosing sacrifice.

By her own hand.

He could not deny her this.

Slowly, with shaking fingers, he pulled the vial from his jacket.

Morgana reached for it.

He hesitated, tightening his grip for just a second.

She leaned her forehead against his, eyes closing.

"Trust me," she whispered.

He let go.

The glass pressed against her fingers.

Morgana stepped back and uncorked the vial. The smell of bitter herbs filled the air.

Merlin’s hands dropped to his sides, useless.

He wanted to say something. Anything. To stop her. To beg her to find another way.

But the words stuck in his throat.

Morgana lifted the vial.

Her hand trembled.

Merlin moved instinctively, his magic surging outward before he could even think.

The world slowed.

The candle flames froze in place. The dust suspended mid-air. Every sound blurred into a low, humming silence.

But Morgana still moved.

Her movements were sluggish, like moving through water, but she brought the vial to her lips.

Their eyes met across the frozen air.

Morgana let out a breathless, broken laugh.

"Of course," she said, smiling weakly. "It all makes sense."

Merlin could not speak. He could only stand there, helpless, as the girl he loved understood everything too late.

Morgana closed her eyes.

And drank.

Time snapped back.

The vial slipped from her fingers and shattered on the stones.

Morgana staggered, gasping for breath.

Merlin caught her as she collapsed into him.

Her heart fluttered weakly against his chest, each beat growing softer.

The spell still clung to her.

The spell had not broken yet.

He clutched her tighter, feeling the life draining out of her.

"You are not allowed to leave me," he whispered fiercely.

Morgana gave the faintest smile against his shoulder.

"You are... such an idiot," she mumbled.

And then she went still.

The curse shattered with a soundless crack.

From the corridors outside came the rising clamor of confused voices, people waking from their unnatural sleep.

Merlin fumbled for the second vial inside his jacket — the antidote — his hands shaking too hard to uncork it at first.

He pressed it to her lips.

"Stay with me," he begged.

For a terrible heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then Morgana coughed weakly, her body jerking in his arms.

Her eyelids fluttered open, hazy and disoriented.

Relief slammed into Merlin so hard it stole the air from his lungs.

He pulled her closer, cradling her against him.

"You stubborn woman," he whispered.

Morgana smiled faintly, her fingers curling weakly into the front of his shirt.

"Learned from the best," she murmured, before her eyes slipped closed again, this time in real sleep.

Merlin closed his own eyes and held her tightly as Camelot woke around them.

Chapter Text

Silence hung heavy over Camelot.

The roar of broken magic had faded, leaving the castle unnervingly still. Somewhere distant, a sword clattered to the floor. A door slammed shut. But no footsteps followed.

The cursed knights had fled. The battle was over.

Merlin barely registered it. He was too focused on the woman in his arms, too focused on the faint, shallow rise and fall of Morgana’s chest.

Across the room, Arthur stirred with a groan.

Merlin's head snapped up.

Arthur pushed himself upright on trembling arms, confusion flickering across his face. He blinked blearily around the throne room, his gaze finally landing on Uther's unmoving body nearby.

Arthur crawled toward him, swaying with every movement.

"Father," Arthur rasped, his voice hoarse.

Uther did not stir. Arthur pressed his ear to his chest, searching desperately for signs of life. After a long, tense moment, Arthur sagged in relief.

"He is alive," he said, breathless.

Arthur dragged himself upright, swaying heavily. He caught sight of Morgana then — her limp body cradled against Merlin’s chest — and his face twisted with alarm.

"Morgana," he croaked, stumbling toward them.

Merlin instinctively shielded her with his body.

Arthur dropped to his knees beside them, reaching for her wrist. His fingers searched for a pulse and found one, faint but present.

"What happened to her?" Arthur demanded, his voice fraying at the edges.

Merlin met his gaze steadily.

"Morgause," he said grimly. "She cursed her. She used Morgana to fuel the spell."

Arthur clenched his fists. Fury sharpened the exhaustion in his face.

"I will see her pay for this," he growled.

The great doors creaked open behind them.

Leon entered first, sword in hand, though the halls beyond were empty. Gaius followed close behind, his face drawn tight with concern.

They took in the scene at once — Uther unconscious but alive, Arthur struggling to stay upright, Merlin holding Morgana protectively — and something flickered between them.

Leon crossed quickly to Arthur’s side.

"Are you hurt, sire?" Leon asked urgently, helping Arthur steady himself.

Arthur shook his head once, too drained to argue.

Gaius knelt beside Merlin, his hands gentle as he pressed two fingers against Morgana’s throat.

"She is alive," Gaius said softly. "But she needs rest. Urgently."

"We should move her," Arthur said, pushing himself upright with Leon’s help. "Take her somewhere safe."

"My chambers are closest," Gaius offered, but Arthur shook his head.

"Her own chambers," Arthur said firmly. "She belongs in her rooms."

Gaius hesitated — it was not ideal — but nodded.

Leon stepped forward without a word.

"I will carry her," he said.

Arthur opened his mouth to argue but closed it again when he swayed on his feet.

Merlin did not protest either. His arms ached from holding her; his body was too weak to lift her for long.

Leon knelt carefully, gathering Morgana’s limp form into his arms. She stirred faintly, a small whimper escaping her lips, but did not wake.

Merlin stumbled to his feet beside Arthur as they all moved together toward the door.

The halls of Camelot were strangely quiet. Servants peeked cautiously from doorways. Guards leaned heavily against the walls, dazed but alive. The cursed knights had fled the moment the spell shattered. Only the survivors remained.

Leon carried Morgana carefully through the winding corridors. Arthur and Merlin followed close behind, wavering with exhaustion but refusing to be left behind.

They suprisingly reached Morgana’s chambers without incident.

Leon laid her gently on her bed, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face with surprising tenderness before stepping back.

Arthur hovered by the door, tense and restless, while Gaius moved to check Morgana’s breathing again, pressing the back of his hand lightly against her forehead.

Merlin stood frozen just inside the room, unwilling to move further away.

"She is strong," Gaius said after a moment. "With rest, she will recover."

Arthur let out a rough breath, scrubbing his hand across his face.

Gaius looked at Merlin meaningfully — a silent warning.

Say nothing.

Not here.
Not yet.

Arthur sat heavily in the chair near the hearth, exhaustion pulling at every line of his body.

Leon stood by the door, silent, watchful.

No one mentioned how the spell had truly broken.

No one realized yet that Morgana had saved them all.

Outside the window, the first pale light of dawn crept across the sky.

The nightmare was over.

For now.

--------------------------

The sun had fully risen by the time Uther stirred.

A servant, pale and trembling, rushed into Morgana’s chambers, where Arthur, Leon, Gaius, and Merlin still kept their silent vigil.

"Sire," the servant said, breathless. "The king — he is awake."

Arthur pushed himself upright immediately, though the effort was written across his face.

"Take me to him," he ordered.

Leon stepped forward instinctively to steady him, but Arthur brushed him off with a sharp look.
"I said take me."

Leon dipped his head in silent acknowledgment and fell into step behind him.

Arthur hesitated just once — a fleeting glance toward Morgana. She lay pale and unmoving in the bed, her breathing thin but steady. Merlin still sat beside her, holding her hand loosely between his.

Arthur’s mouth tightened at the sight, but he said nothing. He turned and followed the servant down the corridor.

They found Uther half out of bed, already snapping orders at whatever unfortunate servant had dared enter. His strength was returning — and with it, the hard glint of anger.

When Arthur entered, Uther dismissed the others with a wave of his hand.

"Report," he barked.

Arthur stood as straight as he could.
"We were cursed. Most of Camelot fell to sleep. The knights Morgause summoned — they fled when the magic broke."

"And Morgana?" Uther demanded.

Arthur stiffened, his voice harder.
"She was attacked. Cursed by Morgause. But alive."

Uther muttered darkly, anger twisting his features.
"She should have been dealt with long ago."

Arthur’s fists clenched, but he said nothing.

"I will see her," Uther said, swinging his legs off the bed with more strength than he should have had.

Arthur moved to help him, but Uther waved him off impatiently.

Leon stepped forward silently, offering a shoulder, but Uther brushed past both of them, determined to walk on his own.

The corridors back to Morgana’s chambers were quieter than they had been earlier. Servants moved about cautiously, clearing debris, speaking only in whispers. The scent of smoke and damp stone clung to the air.

Uther strode ahead, each step sharp and clipped, his anger giving him strength. Arthur followed stiffly, every muscle in his body wound tight. Leon trailed behind them, keeping a watchful eye on both the king and his prince.

When they reached Morgana’s door, Arthur paused again — just for a heartbeat — before pushing it open.

Inside, the fire burned low, casting long shadows across the room.

Gaius worked quietly at a table, his back to the door. Leon moved to stand guard near the entrance without a word.

Merlin sat beside Morgana, her hand still cradled gently in his.

The heavy door creaked as Uther entered, the sound slicing through the quiet.

Merlin jolted upright, startled. He dropped Morgana’s hand at once, his chair scraping slightly against the stone floor as he pulled back.

A flash of something cold and sharp flickered through Uther’s eyes.

Merlin noticed it too late.

Arthur noticed as well, his mouth pressing into a hard, thin line.

Without thinking, Arthur crossed the room and moved closer to Morgana's bed, standing stiffly near her side.

Uther said nothing at first.

He stared down at Morgana for a long moment, studying the pale set of her face, the shallow rise and fall of her chest. His gaze lingered on her longer than necessary, his mouth curving downward into a sneer almost too small to see.

Then his gaze shifted, falling squarely on Merlin.

It was not anger he showed. It was judgment.

Arthur stepped closer to the bed, his stance protective, his jaw clenched.

"She needs rest," Arthur said, his voice strained but even. "Gaius is tending to her."

Uther grunted, unimpressed. "See that she recovers quickly," he said. "Camelot cannot afford weakness."

Without waiting for a response, Uther turned sharply and strode from the room. Leon followed him quietly, pausing only briefly to glance back at Arthur and Merlin before slipping through the door.

The heavy thud of it closing echoed in the silence.

Arthur remained standing at the foot of Morgana’s bed, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his eyes shadowed with something unreadable.

Merlin sank slowly back into his chair, careful this time to keep his hands folded in his lap, away from Morgana.

Gaius moved through the room with quiet efficiency, tending the fire, adjusting Morgana’s blankets.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then Arthur said, without looking at Merlin, "When she wakes, keep your distance."

Merlin nodded stiffly, accepting the rebuke.

Arthur stayed where he was, silent and watchful, while Merlin leaned forward slightly, just close enough to whisper:

"You are safe," he murmured so low that only Morgana, if she could hear at all, would know.

Beneath the thin blanket, her fingers twitched faintly. It was a small, stubborn sign of life. And Merlin clung to it like a lifeline.

Chapter Text

It started with a gasp. 

Merlin was the first to hear it — sharp and broken, shuddering past Morgana’s lips like she was surfacing from deep water. 

He was halfway out of his chair before he remembered Arthur’s warning and stopped himself, fingers clenching tightly around the arms of the chair. 

"Gaius," he called hoarsely. 

Gaius was already moving. He crossed to Morgana's side in two long strides, brushing her hair back from her damp forehead and feeling carefully for her pulse. 

"She is waking," Gaius said, voice tight with urgency. 

Arthur rose sharply from his place by the fire, his posture rigid, his face tight. 

The door opened quietly, and Gwen slipped inside, carrying a basin of fresh water and cloths. She set them down carefully on the table, her hands steady even though her eyes widened when she saw Morgana stirring. 

Without waiting for permission, Gwen moved to the other side of the bed and knelt there, smoothing the blanket carefully over Morgana's trembling form. 

Morgana coughed — a dry, rattling sound — and Gaius reached into his pouch, pulling out a small vial. 

The herbal draught he had prepared earlier, mixed from the roots and healing leaves he had ground that morning. 

"Here," Gaius said, uncorking the vial and lifting Morgana’s head gently. "Sip slowly." 

He pressed the vial to her lips. 

Morgana swallowed weakly, coughing once but managing a few mouthfuls. 

The color in her cheeks deepened slightly, and Gaius let out a small breath of relief. 

"Morgana?" Arthur said, stepping closer. "You are safe. We are all safe." 

Morgana's eyes fluttered open, heavy and dazed. 

She blinked up at Arthur first, struggling to focus, then at Gaius, who murmured quiet encouragements. 

Her gaze slid to Gwen, who adjusted the blankets again with a careful touch, her movements brisk but gentle. 

Finally, Morgana’s eyes found Merlin. 

Something in her face shifted — a flash of recognition, something almost desperate. 

Merlin wanted to move closer, wanted to reach for her, but he stayed frozen in his chair, Arthur’s warning weighing him down like iron chains. 

Morgana’s lips parted. 

"Merlin," she rasped. 

The sound of his name falling from her cracked voice sent a bolt of pain through his chest. 

Gwen’s hands stilled briefly where she tucked the blankets. 

Arthur’s mouth tightened, but he said nothing. 

"You fought," Arthur said stiffly, after a moment. "You survived." 

Morgana blinked again, her brow furrowing. She seemed confused, lost. 

"You need rest," Gaius said firmly, guiding her gently back against the pillows. "You are not yet strong enough to worry about anything else." 

Morgana tried to protest — tried to speak again — but the strength left her and her head lolled back against the cushions. 

Her breathing deepened into a steadier, calmer rhythm. 

The tension in the room eased slightly, though no one truly relaxed. 

Gaius stepped back, wiping his hands quietly on a cloth. 

Arthur returned to his chair by the fire, watching with a guarded, unreadable expression. 

Gwen remained kneeling by the bed for a moment longer, brushing a loose strand of hair back from Morgana’s forehead before standing gracefully and retreating toward the table. 

Merlin stayed seated, his hands balled into tight fists against his knees, his body aching to move toward her but held fast by fear. 

The fire crackled softly, filling the silence. 

Morgana slept on — safe for now. 

------------------------- 

The fire burned low again, casting deep shadows along the stone walls. 

Morgana had drifted back into sleep hours ago, her breathing steady but thin. 

One by one, the others had left. 

Arthur, after much grumbling and pacing, had finally let Gaius chase him off to rest. Leon followed, moving silently to check the outer corridors. Gwen lingered the longest, fussing quietly with the blankets, smoothing Morgana’s hair, reluctant to leave her alone. 

But in the end, even Gwen had gone, slipping from the room with one last glance back over her shoulder. 

The door clicked softly shut behind them. 

Merlin stayed. 

He could not bring himself to leave. 

Not when she was so fragile. 

Not when she had given everything to save them. 

He sat in the chair by her bedside, the firelight painting tired lines across his face. 

Time dragged slowly past. 

He lost track of the hours. 

It was the softest movement that pulled him from his thoughts — the faint rustle of blankets shifting. 

He looked up sharply. 

Morgana’s eyes were open, clearer this time, though exhaustion still weighed heavy behind them. 

She turned her head slightly toward him, blinking slowly. 

"You are still here," she rasped. 

Merlin smiled faintly. "Always." 

He moved closer instinctively, unable to keep the distance anymore. 

Morgana’s hand, pale and trembling, reached slightly toward him. 

He caught it gently between his own. 

For a while, neither of them spoke. 

The fire crackled quietly, the only sound between them. 

It was Morgana who broke the silence first. 

"I thought... maybe this time, I would not wake," she said, her voice rough, stripped of all the strength she once wore like armor. 

Merlin tightened his grip on her hand. 

"I would not have let you go," he said fiercely, his throat tight. 

Morgana smiled a broken, weary smile. 

"You cannot always fight death, Merlin." 

He shook his head. "You fought it yourself." 

Morgana closed her eyes briefly. 

"When I was younger," she said, so softly he almost missed it, "I used to stand at the tower windows and wonder what it would feel like to fall." 

Merlin swallowed hard, feeling the sick twist in his gut. 

"It was not magic back then," Morgana continued, her voice distant. "It was Uther. His rules. His cruelty. His constant talk of loyalty and duty... of strength and honor... while making me feel like I was nothing." 

She opened her eyes again, staring at the ceiling as if seeing a world he could not. 

"And then," she whispered, "when the magic started... it only got worse." 

Merlin leaned closer, listening, barely breathing. 

"I realized what I was," Morgana said. "And I realized if he ever knew — he would kill me." 

She laughed once — a thin, bitter sound. 

"Sometimes I think... I stayed alive just to spite him." 

Merlin’s chest ached. 

"You stayed alive because you are stronger than him," he said, his voice trembling. "Stronger than all of them." 

Morgana turned her head toward him finally, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. 

"I do not feel strong," she said. 

"You are," Merlin said simply. "You always have been." 

For a long moment, they just stared at each other — broken, battered, surviving. 

Merlin brushed his thumb lightly over the back of her hand, the smallest, gentlest touch. 

"You are not alone anymore," he whispered. 

Morgana’s fingers tightened weakly around his. 

In the quiet of the ruined night, it was the only promise either of them could make. 

--------------- 

The morning light crept reluctantly through the tall windows of the royal dining chamber, spilling pale gold across the heavy oak table. 

Uther Pendragon sat alone at its head, a goblet of wine untouched before him, a plate of food growing cold. 

He did not eat. 

He never did, not after nights like the one before — not after magic had slipped through Camelot’s walls like a sickness, tainting everything he had built. 

Gaius entered quietly, bowing low before approaching. 

"My lord," he said respectfully. "Morgana has awakened." 

Uther did not respond at first. 

He stared out the tall windows, his fingers drumming idly against the tabletop. 

"And?" he asked finally, his voice sharp. 

Gaius straightened. "She is weak but stable. She remains confined to her chambers for rest. I have given strict orders that she is not to exert herself." 

Uther grunted, still staring at the horizon. 

Confined. Good. 

Better she be watched — better she be contained — until he could be sure. 

He did not trust it. 

He did not trust her. 

His thoughts churned, dark and furious. 

Morgana was his blood. 

His daughter. 

A fact he had buried so deep it hardly seemed real anymore. 

It had been necessary — for the good of Camelot, for the good of appearances. Igraine had never known. No one had. 

Not even Morgana. 

And yet, despite all his careful lies, all his sacrifices, she had still turned out... wrong. 

Poisoned. 

Tainted by magic. 

Like her mother before her, the woman Uther had seduced and discarded without a second thought. 

Uther's lip curled as he remembered the first signs: Morgana's stubbornness, her defiance, her insistence on speaking out when she should have stayed silent. Even as a child, she had been a challenge to control. 

He had tried to shape her into something useful — a symbol of Camelot's strength. 

But magic had found her anyway. 

It always did. 

It seeped through blood and bone, defiling everything it touched. 

And Morgause — that witch, that traitor — had seen it.  

Had used it. 

Uther's hand clenched around the goblet until the metal groaned. 

He had underestimated Morgause. 

He would not make that mistake again. 

And then there was the servant. 

Merlin. 

Uther’s thoughts darkened further. 

There was something wrong about that boy. 

Too familiar. Too loyal. Too... clever. 

Servants were meant to obey, to serve without question. 

But Merlin was different. 

He was always near Arthur, always near Morgana, always in the right place at the right time. 

And now — now there was this strange, uncomfortable closeness between him and Morgana. 

Uther had seen it. How could he not have. 

That moment in her chambers, when Merlin had knelt by her side, when he had held her hand like a lover or a brother. 

It had curdled Uther’s stomach. 

Servants should know their place. 

And if they forgot, it was a sign of rot, of betrayal waiting to happen. 

Uther leaned back in his chair, his mind cold and calculating. 

He could not afford disloyalty.  

Not now. Not ever. 

Merlin would bear watching. 

If the boy slipped — even once — Uther would not hesitate. 

A quiet replacement and a quick punishment.  

A necessary correction for the good of Camelot. 

Everything — every sacrifice, every cruelty — was for Camelot. 

Even when it hurt. 

Especially when it hurt. 

Gaius still stood before him, waiting patiently. 

Uther finally turned his gaze back to the old physician. 

"Ensure Morgana remains in her chambers," he said. "I will not have her wandering freely until I am satisfied she is... herself." 

Gaius bowed. 

"As you command, sire." 

Uther watched him go, his mind already turning. 

Morgana. 

Morgause.  

Magic.  

Merlin. 

The threats circled closer every day. 

He would find them. 

He would crush them. 

Or Camelot would fall. 

And Uther Pendragon would burn the world before he let that happen. 

------------- 

Later, when the day’s duties had finally worn down even his stubbornness, Arthur found himself wandering the castle halls alone. 

His feet carried him back toward Morgana’s chambers without thinking. 

He stopped at the heavy door, pressing one hand lightly against the cool wood. 

The memory of the long night weighed heavily in his mind. 

He had fought to stay awake. Had sworn to himself that he would not leave her, not even for a second. 

But exhaustion had dragged him under anyway. 

And while he slept, it had been Merlin — foolish, loyal Merlin — who had stayed awake. 

Merlin who had sat by Morgana’s side, who had held her hand when no one else was there to offer comfort. 

Arthur’s jaw tightened. 

He trusted Merlin. He knew Merlin would never hurt her. 

And yet... 

It stung. 

Not anger or jealousy. 

Something colder, heavier. 

Bitterness — at himself, at his own failure to be strong enough. 

When Morgana had woken, Arthur had been there. 

He had been the first face she truly looked at. 

But after the confusion faded, her gaze had shifted — almost instinctively — toward Merlin. 

Arthur had seen the way her eyes softened when they found him. The way her fingers twitched, as if remembering the comfort Merlin had offered in the dark. 

Arthur pressed his forehead lightly against the door. 

He hated how it made him feel. 

Weak. Left behind. 

He turned sharply, his boots striking hard against the stone floor as he stormed away from the door and into the empty halls beyond. 

The courtyard was still and cold when he reached it, the early morning sun struggling to warm the stones. 

Arthur crossed to the far end, the restless energy still burning through him, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. 

He barely heard the footsteps until they were close. 

"My lord," Gwen said softly. 

Arthur turned, startled — and embarrassed to be caught brooding like a boy. 

Gwen stood a few paces away, her hands folded neatly in front of her apron, her gaze calm but concerned. 

"You should be resting," she said gently. 

Arthur huffed out a breath, glancing away. 

"I cannot," he muttered. "There is too much to put right." 

Gwen stepped closer, her voice steady and kind. 

"You carry too much alone," she said. "You always have." 

Arthur gave a short, bitter laugh. 

"Who else is there to carry it?" he asked. "My father? He sees only threats. Leon? Gaius? Even they have their limits." 

"And Merlin?" Gwen asked, her voice soft but sure. 

Arthur stiffened slightly. 

He looked away, staring across the empty training field. 

"Merlin..." he said, then shook his head. "He does what he can." 

Gwen watched him for a moment. 

"You are not alone, sire," she said. "You have more allies than you realize." 

Arthur glanced at her, the tightness in his chest loosening just a little at the quiet certainty in her voice. 

"You believe that?" he asked. 

"I do," Gwen said simply. 

She did not move closer or touch him, but her presence was solid and warm, a steady anchor in a world that felt like it was slipping from his grasp. 

Arthur straightened slightly. 

Before he could say more, footsteps echoed across the courtyard. 

Leon approached, his armor gleaming dully in the gray light. 

"Sire," Leon said, bowing slightly. "The king requests your presence." 

Arthur nodded stiffly. 

"Of course." 

He turned to Gwen, offering her a rare, quiet look of gratitude — no words spoken, but understood between them. 

Then he followed Leon back into the keep, the weight of duty settling back over him like a familiar, unwelcome cloak. 

Gwen watched him go, her heart heavy but certain. 

Some battles were fought with swords. Others were fought with patience. 

And some, with simply refusing to let go. 

--------------------- 

The fire burned low in Morgana’s chambers, casting soft shadows against the stone. 

Merlin sat in the chair beside her, close enough to reach out if she needed, but not touching. 

Morgana was awake — still pale, still trembling slightly beneath the heavy blankets, but awake. 

They had spoken earlier, the raw honesty of it still lingering between them like smoke. 

Her confession about Uther, about the hopelessness that had haunted her since childhood, still echoed in Merlin’s mind. 

He wanted to shield her from it all — from the past, from the pain. 

But he could not. 

All he could do was stay. 

Morgana turned her head slightly on the pillow, studying him. 

"You said you were different too," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "You meant magic, did you not?" 

Merlin hesitated, then nodded. 

"I did." 

She smiled faintly, tired but real. 

"I always thought... there was something about you," she said. "Something good. Something impossible." 

Merlin looked down, flushing. 

"It is dangerous," he said. "Especially here. Especially now." 

Morgana’s smile faded. 

"I know," she said. "Better than anyone." 

The silence between them stretched — not uncomfortable, but heavy with shared understanding. 

Merlin leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. 

For the first time in a long time, he did not feel entirely alone. 

The ground seemed to shudder beneath them, so faint that at first Merlin thought he imagined it. 

Then came the voice — ancient and low, curling through the stones. 

"Emrys..." 

Merlin stiffened. 

Morgana noticed immediately. 

"What is it?" she asked, sitting up slightly despite the effort it cost her. 

Merlin shook his head, forcing a tight smile. 

"Nothing," he lied. 

"Merlin," Morgana said sharply, her eyes narrowing. "Tell me." 

The voice came again, insistent now, pulling at something deep inside him. 

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

"There is a dragon beneath Camelot," he said finally, voice low. "Ancient. Older than the castle itself." 

Morgana’s eyes widened, but she said nothing. 

"It speaks to me," Merlin continued. "When it... needs me. Or when it thinks I need to hear something." 

"And now it calls?" she asked. 

He nodded grimly. 

"I have to go." 

Morgana reached out weakly, catching his hand. 

"You should not face it alone," she whispered. 

"I must," Merlin said gently. "It is not something anyone else can do." 

Their fingers lingered together for a heartbeat longer than necessary. 

Morgana searched his face, reading the reluctance there, the pain. 

"I will be here," she said finally, her voice steady despite the hurt behind it. 
"When you come back." 

Merlin smiled — a small, broken thing — and squeezed her hand once before pulling away. 

He slipped out into the dark corridors beyond, the dragon's call thrumming louder with each step.