Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Morgana couldn’t sleep.

She hadn’t even undressed for bed. Her dark green gown clung to her like armor, her hair twisted high and tight as if loosening it might let everything spill out. She sat in the high-backed chair beside the fire, slippers tucked neatly under her feet, arms crossed over her chest. The flames whispered and shifted, restless as her thoughts.

The door opened without a knock.

Arthur stepped inside, pale and shuttered. He didn’t speak.

Morgana stood at once, her heart tightening. “Arthur-?”

He closed the door softly behind him, careful, as though afraid the sound might splinter the last of his composure.

“It didn’t come,” he said. His voice was raw, barely there. “There’s nothing.”

Morgana crossed the room before he could finish breaking. Her hands found his arms, steady and grounding. “What do you mean?” she asked, though she already knew.

Arthur swallowed hard, and it seemed to echo through his whole body. He turned his wrist upward, like offering a wound. “Nothing. Not a mark. Not a word. Not even a scratch. Just... skin.”

Her eyes dropped to his bare wrist – smooth, untouched, empty. The sight hollowed something inside her.

“Father dragged me to Gaius,” Arthur went on, bitter laughter catching in his throat. “Said I was broken.”

Morgana’s grip tightened. “He what?”

“Didn’t even look at me,” Arthur said quietly. “Just handed me over like I was a spoiled fruit or wounded animal to be examined.”

The silence that followed felt heavy enough to crack.

Morgana reached up and cupped his face, thumb brushing away something that trembled at the edge of being a tear. “You are not broken,” she said fiercely, voice soft but steady as steel. “You are more than a mark.”

Arthur’s eyes were distant, lost somewhere deep where her words couldn’t yet reach. He sank into the chair opposite her, his hand returning again and again to his wrist, rubbing at it absently, as if he could conjure destiny by sheer will. Morgana poured him wine without asking. He took it without thanks. He didn’t need to. They sat in silence, the kind forged in years of shared griefs and unspoken understandings. The fire popped. Somewhere far away, the castle settled in its sleep.

When he finally stood to leave, he looked older than she’d ever seen him, like someone had laid the weight of a crown across his bones before he was ready to bear it.

“Morgana,” he said, his hand on the door, voice low. “If anyone asks... don’t say anything.”

“I won’t,” she promised.

He nodded once, the faintest flicker of gratitude in his eyes, then left. The door closed with a soft click. His absence felt heavier than his presence had.

For a long moment, Morgana didn’t move.

Then-

“You heard,” she said quietly.

Gwen stepped out from the shadowed corner where she’d been folding linens. She didn’t apologise for hearing. Morgana had wanted her to.

“I did,” Gwen said softly. Her hands were still, eyes dark with sympathy. “Is he going to be alright?”

Morgana turned toward the fire, her profile lit gold and sorrowful. “He doesn’t believe he’s whole anymore.”

Gwen crossed the room and knelt beside her, one hand resting lightly on Morgana’s arm.

 “But he is.”

“Yes.” Morgana’s voice wavered. “But it doesn’t matter what’s true. Only what he’s been taught to believe.”

She rubbed her thumb against her own wrist through the silk sleeve, thoughtful, haunted. 

“I’m worried about him,” she whispered.

Gwen didn’t answer at first. She just stayed beside her, quiet and sure as always, the way earth stays beneath fire.

“He’s not the only one carrying something he doesn’t know how to name,” Gwen said finally, so softly Morgana almost missed it. Morgana’s eyes flicked toward her. Gwen had turned back to tidy the room, her movements gentle and deliberate, as though holding the night together by hand.

Arthur’s presence still lingered, like smoke clinging to the air, heavy and unyielding.

“He’s strong,” Gwen said, setting down the goblet. “He’ll survive this.”

Morgana, still staring into the fire, murmured, “Surviving and living aren’t the same.”

Gwen came to kneel in front of her again. “No,” she agreed. “They’re not.”

A beat. Then Morgana undid her sleeve and rolled it up.

There, glowing faintly in the firelight, the word Kind shimmered in rose gold, delicate, certain, eternal. It curved along her wrist as if it had been waiting all her life to appear there.

Gwen drew a quiet breath. “You shouldn’t-”

“He’s gone,” Morgana said. “And I’m tired of hiding when I’m safe.”

She reached for Gwen’s hand, turning it gently to reveal its twin: Brave, in the same ink, the same shape – two halves of one truth.

“Do you ever wonder what he’d do if he knew?” Morgana asked, voice tight. “Not Arthur. Uther.”

Gwen’s fingers curled around hers. “I don’t have to wonder.”

Morgana flinched but didn’t pull away. “When Gaius said soulmate marks could be platonic, I wanted to believe him. I tried. But every time you touch me, Gwen…” Her voice broke. “There’s nothing platonic about what I feel.”

Gwen gave a small, rueful smile. “He was trying to protect us.”

“By lying to us.”

“By giving us a chance to stay,” Gwen said softly. “Here. Together. In the only way we can.”

Morgana traced the curve of Gwen’s mark with reverence. “When I was young, I dreamed of who it might be. A knight. A princess. Someone who’d carry me far from this place.”

Gwen smiled faintly. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“You never have,” Morgana said fiercely. “You are the only thing in this castle that feels right.”

They sat like that, two women bound by fate and defiance, their hands clasped, their marks glowing gently between them.

After a while, Morgana spoke again. “Arthur’s in love too. He doesn’t know it yet. Or maybe he does and he’s afraid.”

Gwen tilted her head. “Merlin? The new serving boy?”

“He looks at him the way you look at me when you think I won’t notice.”

“They’re mirrors,” Gwen murmured. “Them. Us.”

“And both cursed to hide,” Morgana said. “Because the world isn’t ready to call it what it is.”

Gwen squeezed her hand. “Then let us call it.”

That made Morgana smile – a small, crooked, shining thing. “You always know what to say.”

“I had a good teacher,” Gwen whispered, pressing a kiss to Morgana’s palm before folding the sleeve back down.

Outside, the wind sighed against the windows. Inside, the fire crackled, steady, alive.

The world might never know their names as soulmates. But they did.

And that, for tonight, was enough.

Chapter Text

Morgana had never liked feasts.

They were loud and gluttonous and always stank of courtly pretense. But tonight, the discomfort in her gut wasn’t about nobles or wine. It was something deeper. Darker.

She sat before Gwen at the long table, her maid holding the customary position standing at her side — not close enough to touch, but near enough to feel the heat of her leg brushing against Morgana’s beneath the folds of her dress when she stepped forth to refill the wine goblets. They’d barely spoken all day, though Morgana had found herself watching Gwen more than once, needing the reassurance of her stillness in the middle of the chaos.

Across the room, Arthur was trying not to look uncomfortable in his ceremonial cape. He was failing rather massively, in her opinion. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Then she saw him.

The boy.

That servant with the ink-black curls and nervous hands. The one who lingered too long in Gaius’s chambers and never seemed to speak. The one who made Arthur scowl, then stare, then storm off. Merlin.

He slipped into the hall like he didn’t belong — which, to be fair, he didn’t. Morgana had only noticed him a few times before, but each one left an impression. The kind you weren’t sure why you remembered, only that you did.

The moment he stepped into the room, Morgana’s unease sharpened. Not because of him — but around him. Like the air itself had changed, tuned to a different key.

Her fingers twitched in her lap.

Magic. She didn’t know how she knew. She just did .

Something wasn’t right.

Then the woman began to sing.

The music was slow, haunting, beautiful in the way poison sometimes is.

And suddenly Morgana understood. Not the notes — not the lyrics — but the wrongness inside them.

She gripped the stem of her goblet tightly. Her breathing shallowed, the beginnings of sleep threatening to pull at her senses.

Beside her, Gwen leaned in slightly, swaying slightly and clearly fighting to keep her eyes open. Her words are slurred when she speaks, slowed by the music. “Are you alright?”

Morgana opened her mouth to answer—and that was when the blade flew.

It cut the air clean, straight toward Arthur’s heart.

She fought to stand, her body feeling like it was swamped with treacle and honey. But someone else was faster.

Merlin .

The boy moved like lightning and chaos. He crashed into Arthur, knocking him flat. The blade thunked harmlessly into the throne behind them.

Gasps rang out. Swords were drawn. Guards surged as the music cut off and suddenly the drowsiness left the room.

Morgana’s heart thundered as she sat back down slowly, shaken.

The room exploded in questions, accusations, and motion. Arthur was shouting, Uther was barking orders, and somewhere in the mess, Merlin lay awkward and silent sprawled out on the floor— as though he was the one who’d thrown the dagger.

Uther's eyes bored into him.

For one terrifying second, Morgana was sure he would order the boy's execution. For saving Arthur. For existing. For being strange .

But then Gaius appeared. Ever the tactician, ever the shield. And Merlin was allowed to walk free.

Morgana’s chest ached as she watched him go - shoulders stiff, eyes down, like he was already expecting the dungeon.

Her magic pulsed behind her ribs.

He’s like me.

She couldn’t prove it. But she knew .

—

Later, when she returned to her chambers, Gwen was already there. She’d drawn a bath and laid out a nightgown, as she always did.

“I saw your hand twitch,” Gwen said softly as she helped unlace her bodice.

Morgana paused. “What?”

“Just before the blade was thrown. You felt it.”

She swallowed. “Yes.”

Gwen didn’t press further. She never did. Instead, she handed Morgana the warm cloth for her face, then said, “That boy. Merlin. I think he felt it too.”

Morgana closed her eyes. “He’s not just a servant.”

“No,” Gwen agreed. “Neither are you just a lady of the court.”

The words hung in the air between them - heavy, dangerous, true.

Morgana stepped into the bath, sank into the heat, and whispered, “If Uther knew what he’d done tonight, he would have him killed. Even though he saved Arthur.”

Gwen sat on the edge of the tub, gentle fingers trailing through Morgana’s hair.

“Then we protect him,” she said. “The way we protect each other.”

Morgana looked up at her - the woman she loved, the name on her wrist, the one anchor she trusted in this house of knives. Aside from Arthur, of course, but he was a big headed fool, so he hardly counted. 

And she nodded.

“Always.”

Chapter Text

Morgana didn’t bother knocking.

She pushed open the wooden door to Gaius’s chambers with a firmness that announced exactly how little she cared for pleasantries tonight.

The court physician looked up from a clutter of scrolls and tinctures, brow furrowing.

“Morgana,” he said carefully. “What brings you—”

“The boy,” she interrupted. “Merlin.”

Gaius closed the book in front of him with deliberate calm. “What about him?”

Morgana stepped into the room, the door swinging shut behind her. “He knew. Before the blade. I saw him move. He didn’t just react — he anticipated it. Like he felt it.”

A pause. The fire crackled softly.

“And I know that feeling,” she added, quieter now. “The pressure behind your ribs. The rush of heat, the pull. You don’t learn that. You are that.”

Gaius’s expression didn’t change. But his eyes did. They darkened, ever so slightly.

Morgana folded her arms. “Is he like me?”

Gaius hesitated — too long.

“He’s just a boy from Ealdor,” he said gently, in that maddening voice of his that always felt a little like being talked down to. “Curious. Reckless, perhaps. But not magical.”

Morgana stared at him.

“You forget, Gaius,” she said, soft and dangerous, “I’ve lied to Uther too.”

He didn’t respond.

“I felt it,” she repeated. “And I know when someone hides the same kind of fire I do.”

Gaius’s hands tightened slightly around the scrolls. “What you felt tonight was adrenaline. Fear. And perhaps… your own guilt. You wish you had saved Arthur.”

Morgana took a step forward. “Don’t twist this.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re protecting him.”

“I’m protecting everyone. ”

The silence between them thickened like smoke.

Finally, Gaius looked away. “You’re tired. And shaken. The mind conjures all sorts of ghosts in the wake of fear.”

Morgana’s jaw clenched. She could hear the finality in his tone, feel the stone wall rising between them.

But still. She wasn’t ready to leave without something.

“Is he dangerous?” she asked, voice low.

Gaius met her eyes. “No.”

“Will he hurt Arthur?”

A pause. “No.”

That, at least, felt like the truth.

Morgana turned, her cloak swirling as she made for the door.

But just as she opened it, she nearly collided with someone in the corridor.

Merlin.

He stood frozen, hand raised to knock. A little breathless, a little wide-eyed — like a boy caught eavesdropping. He stepped back quickly, head bowed, body curling inward like he could disappear if he just made himself small enough.

“Sorry,” he mouthed. No sound. Just the shape of the word.

Morgana stilled.

Up close, she saw it: the tightness around his eyes. The tension in his shoulders. The way his hands never quite stopped moving — twitching, flexing, drawing invisible lines in the air.

She opened her mouth — not to question, not to accuse. Just to speak.

But then he looked up at her.

His eyes were impossibly blue. And in them: fear. Knowing. A flicker of something ancient. Something familiar.

And for a moment, she saw herself.

The girl who had woken up screaming with fire in her veins. Who had smiled through dinners while hiding her trembling hands under the tablecloth. Who had learned exactly how quiet you had to be to survive Uther Pendragon.

Merlin blinked. Looked away. Stepped past her and into Gaius’s chambers without another word.

Morgana stood there in the corridor for a long moment.

She reached up and touched her wrist through the sleeve.

Then she whispered to herself, almost wondering, almost sure:
“He’s not just a boy from Ealdor.”

And she turned and walked back into the dark, her thoughts spinning like spells she didn’t yet know how to cast.

–

“You’re quiet,” Gwen murmured, working a silver-handled brush gently through Morgana’s hair.

Morgana stared into the firelight, eyes unfocused. “Am I?”

Gwen offered a wry smile. “For you? Yes.”

Morgana exhaled slowly, then said, “I saw him. Just now. Merlin.”

Gwen paused. “In the corridor?”

“I’d gone to speak with Gaius,” Morgana added, tone clipped. “He lied, by the way. Badly.”

“About Merlin?”

Morgana nodded once, her fingers twitching in her lap. “Said he’s just a boy from Ealdor. That I imagined it. That I’m tired.”

“You are tired,” Gwen said gently.

“I’m also right.”

Gwen set the brush down, hands falling gently to Morgana’s shoulders. “What did you feel?”

Morgana closed her eyes.

“It was like…” She shook her head. “Not like magic flaring, not the way it does in me. Quieter. Older. Like… like standing near the edge of something deep and dark and realizing it knows your name.”

Gwen’s hands stilled.

“He looked at me,” Morgana said, voice barely above a whisper, “and I saw myself. Not just because he’s hiding something. But because of how he hides it. Like he’s used to it. Like it’s the only way he’s stayed alive.”

Gwen knelt beside her now, their faces nearly level. “Do you think he’s dangerous?”

“No,” Morgana said at once. “No. That’s not the feeling. If anything…” She trailed off.

“What?”

“I think he’s in danger.”

She looked down at Gwen’s hand where it rested against her own. Soft, steady. Marked. “And I think Arthur’s part of it. The way they look at each other... it’s already happening. Something neither of them understands yet.”

Gwen’s brows furrowed. “You think he’s Arthur’s—?”

“I don’t know,” Morgana interrupted. “It’s not that simple. But there’s a thread between them. I felt it. And Gaius saw it too. That’s why he lied.”

Gwen was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “You’ve had dreams before. Could this be that?”

Morgana looked away. “I don’t know. It’s different this time. It’s not coming in flashes or fire. It’s just a knowing. Like I’ve met the storm before it breaks.”

She stood abruptly, crossing to the window. The moonlight painted her silhouette in silver. Below, the castle was still — the kind of silence only Camelot knew: watchful, never safe.

“I keep thinking,” Morgana murmured, “what if I hadn’t been born here? What if I didn’t know how to hide what I am? Would I be in the dungeons right now? Would Uther even hesitate?”

Gwen came to stand behind her, folding her arms around her waist. “No. He wouldn’t.”

Morgana leaned back into the warmth of her. “And neither would Arthur. Not if it were anyone else.”

“But it isn’t anyone else,” Gwen whispered. “It’s you. And that makes all the difference.”

Morgana let her eyes slip shut. “For now.”

They stood there in silence, wrapped in moonlight and worry.

Morgana promised herself, that night, that she would keep an eye on the boy as best she could. Keep an eye on her brother too, with any luck. Something wasn’t quite right with them.

Chapter Text

Morgana observes the pair a lot, over the course of the next week.

For example, she saw Merlin flinch before Arthur even opened his mouth.

They were in the council chambers — Arthur seated tall at the long table beside Uther, Merlin standing quietly behind him, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were white. Gaius stood near the back, too, but far enough away that Merlin was alone in the ring of cold-eyed nobles.

Uther was ranting about border patrols. Something about the eastern villages and suspected sorcery. Morgana stopped listening when she noticed how Merlin's shoulders hunched with every mention of magic. Not visibly — just slightly. A breath shorter. A twitch at the jaw.

When Arthur reached for his goblet and found it missing, he snapped, “Merlin!”

The boy jolted like he’d been struck, fumbling immediately for the jug of water at his side, nearly spilling it in his rush to pour.

Arthur muttered something under his breath. Morgana didn’t catch it — but she caught the look on his face. Annoyed, yes. But also confused. Like Merlin’s nerves weren’t something he was used to seeing. Like part of him didn’t understand why a servant — his servant — would flinch from him.

Morgana saw it all.

When Merlin passed her on the way out, he offered a quick, apologetic bow — but his eyes didn’t meet hers. They lingered at her wrist. Just for a breath.

She didn’t cover it.

—

She found herself watching them in the courtyard after training.

Arthur was showing off again — trying to impress Leon and the others with a flashy, overly dramatic flourish of his sword. The knights laughed. Gwen rolled her eyes from the stable gate.

Merlin was standing awkwardly beside the water buckets, arms full of cloth and armor pieces that looked about a second from tumbling out of his grasp.

“Catch,” Arthur called, tossing a sweaty tunic in his direction.

Merlin caught it — barely. He didn’t complain. Just wrinkled his nose, looked like he was about to complain, said nothing , and turned toward the wash basin.

Arthur smiled.

Morgana blinked.

Not cruel. Not amused. A real smile. Quick, unconscious, gone the second it appeared — like even Arthur didn’t know he’d done it.

She caught up to Gwen later in the corridor.

“Have you seen the way Arthur looks at him?” she asked.

Gwen gave a small, unreadable smile. “He looks at Merlin the way people look at puzzles they want to solve.”

Morgana turned that over in her mind the rest of the night.

—

Another meeting. Another stumble.

Merlin tripped on the edge of the rug on his way to Arthur’s side, almost knocking a tray of documents out of a lord’s hands. Uther rolled his eyes almost audibly.

“By the gods, is he yours , Arthur? Or a gift from the stables?”

Morgana winced.

Arthur’s expression shifted. A flicker of anger. Embarrassment, maybe. But not at Merlin. At Uther .

Merlin stood there, rigid, swallowing hard.

“Leave him,” Arthur said quickly, almost too quickly. “He’s new.”

Uther grunted, unimpressed. Merlin bowed, retreating like smoke.

And Morgana noticed — Arthur didn’t take his eyes off him until he was gone.

—

It was raining. The halls were quieter. Morgana passed Gaius’s chambers again on her way back from a delivery of salves for the court healer.

The door was open just enough to catch the sound of soft rustling. She paused.

Inside, Merlin was writing something.

His back was to the door, shoulders hunched, but his hand moved across the parchment in quick, tight strokes. It wasn’t scribbling — it was communication. Whole thoughts poured onto the page in silence.

Gaius sat nearby, eyes closed, listening like one would listen to a voice.

Morgana slipped away without being seen.

She told Gwen that night, in a whisper beneath the sheets, “He speaks with his silence. It’s not empty. It’s full.”

Gwen looked at her, warm and knowing. “So are yours.”

—

Morgana saw Arthur toss a goblet toward Merlin during a meal — not in anger, but like a test.

Merlin caught it.

Arthur blinked, a lazy, pleased look in his eyes..

Morgana smiled.

It had begun.

—

“He caught it,” Morgana said without preamble as she strode into her chambers that afternoon, still smiling faintly.

Gwen raised an eyebrow as she passed her a cup of tea, freshly brewed as always. “Caught what?”

“The goblet. Arthur tossed it over his shoulder without looking. Merlin caught it midair. One hand. Barely even blinked.”

Gwen sat down opposite her, folding her legs beneath her on the cushions. “Is that impressive because of the reflexes… or because Arthur didn’t miss on purpose this time?”

Morgana’s smile widened. “Both.”

They sipped their tea in quiet for a moment. The rain outside softened the world. Inside, time felt slower — safer.

“Do you think he knows?” Gwen asked finally.

“Arthur?” Morgana shook her head. “No. Not yet. Not in a way he can name. But he’s… drawn. You can see it in the way he waits for Merlin to be nearby, even when he’s pretending not to care.”

“And Merlin?”

Morgana was silent for a long moment. Then she set her cup down, curling her knees toward her chest. “I think Merlin knows everything.”

Gwen studied her. “You’ve felt it, haven’t you? His magic.”

Morgana nodded once. “It hums around him. Not loud — just present. Like a heartbeat. And the way he watches things… the way he moves, like he’s always bracing for a blow—”

“You used to walk like that,” Gwen said softly.

“I still do,” Morgana admitted.

They let that sit between them for a moment — the truth of what it meant to live in Uther’s castle and carry power beneath your skin like a secret that might get you killed.

Morgana looked up again. “I don’t think Merlin has anyone. Except Gaius. And now… Arthur.”

“Arthur isn’t enough. Not yet,” Gwen said gently.

“No. But he could be.”

Morgana stood and crossed to the window, watching the mist roll in across the lower courtyard. “He’ll figure it out. About Merlin. About himself. It’s just a matter of time.”

“And when he does?”

Morgana’s hand rested against the cold glass. “Then he’ll have to choose. Between what he’s been taught and what he feels.”

Gwen rose to stand beside her, their shoulders brushing. “That sounds familiar.”

Morgana smiled without humor. “Doesn’t it just?”

They stood there in quiet thought for a while. Then Gwen said, “So what do we do?”

Morgana turned to her. “We keep watch. We protect him where we can. If anyone in this castle starts to suspect—”

“They’ll go to Uther,” Gwen finished. Her voice was calm. Certain.

Morgana nodded. “And if Uther ever learns what Merlin is…”

Gwen didn’t flinch. “Then we stand in the way.”

Morgana reached for her hand and squeezed it. “They don’t see us coming, Gwen. They never have.”

“Good,” Gwen murmured, eyes fierce. “Let them keep looking the wrong way.”

Chapter Text

It had been some time since Merlin joined them, and he simply did not seem to be learning how to be a servant quickly enough.

Uther’s temper was flaring.

Morgana could tell from the way his voice sharpened at the end of every sentence, like a blade being honed. He was seated on the throne like it insulted him to be there, barking orders to the court while the rest of the room braced for impact.

Arthur stood a few steps down, face set in a careful, dutiful calm.

And behind him, just slightly behind, was Merlin.

He looked out of place as always: too lanky, too awkward, too earnest. His shirt was a little crooked, his boots a little muddy. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his tunic — not enough for most to notice, but Morgana did.

She always noticed.

Gwen stood beside her at the back of the hall nearest Uther’s throne, perfectly still. Morgana didn’t need to look to know she was watching too.

Uther’s voice rose again. “I asked for the report from the western patrol, not your speculation, Lord Cedric. Bring me the parchment.”

Cedric flinched, looking around. “It was delivered to the prince’s chambers-”

“Then where is it?” Uther snapped. “Arthur?”

Arthur turned, murmured something to Merlin, who blinked like he’d just been yanked out of a dream. He nodded quickly and stepped forward, holding out a folded parchment.

Only-

His foot caught the edge of the stone step.

The parchment slipped from his hand.

It landed directly at Uther’s feet.

The room froze.

A ripple of stillness spread across the court - the kind only Uther Pendragon could summon. Arthur’s jaw clenched. Merlin stood frozen mid-step, color draining from his face.

Morgana could feel it.

The way Uther's anger shifted, honed in on Merlin like a hawk.

“You dare throw something at my feet?” Uther said, voice low and dangerous.

Merlin tried to shake his head, tried to kneel and retrieve the parchment, but Arthur reached for it first — quick, too quick — clearly trying to deflect, but it was too late.

Uther was already standing.

Morgana’s pulse spiked.

She stepped forward without thinking.

“I asked him to bring it,” she said clearly, cutting through the silence like a bell.

Every head turned.

Uther’s glare snapped to her. “You what ?”

Morgana tilted her chin. “I asked Merlin to hand the parchment to me. I wanted to confirm something about the signature.” She stepped forward again, graceful and poised. “The fall was my fault. I distracted him.”

Uther’s eyes narrowed. “You interrupted a royal servant in the middle of court proceedings?”

Morgana smiled, all silk and steel. “I interrupted a friend. ”

Uther’s jaw twitched. But he couldn’t argue with her without undermining Arthur. Arthur, to his credit, was already backing her up with a carefully timed nod.

“She had questions about the patrol routes,” Arthur added, voice steady. “It was harmless.”

Uther’s lip curled, but he waved them off with a grunt. “Fine. But if that boy stumbles again-”

“He won’t,” Morgana said, soft and firm.

Merlin’s eyes flicked up, just for a second, and met hers across the room.

There it was again: that recognition. The flicker of shared understanding. Not gratitude, not quite. Something deeper. Something older.

Something dangerous.

—-

Later, back in her chambers, Gwen set down the tea tray with a sigh. “That was close.”

Morgana paced in front of the fire. “Too close.”

“He’s going to start asking questions,” Gwen said. “Uther.”

“Let him,” Morgana said, firelight catching in her eyes. “He’s so focused on Merlin being a clumsy servant that he hasn’t stopped to wonder why I keep getting in the way.”

Gwen gave her a long look. “You’re walking the line.”

“I’m used to it.”

“But one day you’ll step over it.”

Morgana paused. “I know.”

Then, softer: “And I’ll be ready.”

Chapter Text

Morgana leaned against the low wall at the edge of the courtyard, arms crossed, watching Arthur swing his sword through the same drill for the third time without pause.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the ground,” she said lightly.

Arthur grunted and planted the sword in the dirt. “Better the ground than someone’s skull.”

“Optimistic as always,” she drawled, approaching.

He didn't look at her as she approached. “Have you come to lecture me?”

“Would I do that?”

“Yes.”

She smiled. “Not tonight.”

A beat passed.

Arthur exhaled and sat down on the edge of the practice bench. “He’s driving me insane.”

Morgana tilted her head. “Merlin?”

He nodded, raking a hand through his hair. “I can’t figure him out. One minute he’s tripping over his own boots, the next he’s catching arrows mid-flight. He never speaks, never complains. Just… exists. Hovering.”

Morgana sat beside him, close enough for comfort. “He’s not like the others.”

“No,” Arthur agreed. “He doesn’t act like a servant. Not really. He rolls his eyes at me. He forgets protocol. Half the time he looks at me like he’s not even listening and then somehow still remembers everything I need.”

“And that bothers you?”

“Yes!” Arthur said immediately. Then quieter, “No. I don’t know.”

Morgana’s gaze softened.

“I just—” He exhaled hard, like trying to push the feelings out with air. “I don’t understand him. He never says anything, and yet sometimes… sometimes I feel like he has.”

There was a pause.

“He makes me nervous, Morgana.”

Morgana blinked, surprised. “You?”

Arthur shrugged helplessly. “Not because I think he’ll hurt me. It’s the opposite. I keep thinking—what if something happens to him? What if people find out there’s something different about him and they… I don’t know. Tear him apart for it.”

“You’re worried about how the court sees him,” Morgana said, a touch too knowing.

Arthur looked away. “He doesn’t belong here.”

“Neither do I,” Morgana said gently.

Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it.

“I don’t mean it as a complaint,” she added, softer now. “It’s just the truth. Camelot isn’t built for people like us. Or him.”

Arthur rubbed his face with both hands. “I don’t want him to get hurt because of me.”

“Then don’t let him,” Morgana said. “You have more power than you realize, Arthur. If you make space for him, others will follow. Even if they don’t understand why.”

“He doesn’t need space, he needs a map,” Arthur muttered. “He keeps getting lost in the castle corridors. I’ve seen him walk into a broom closet.”

Morgana laughed. “And yet, you still haven’t sent him away.”

Arthur hesitated. Then: “I don’t want to.”

Morgana watched him for a moment. “Do you know what it is you’re feeling?”

Arthur didn’t answer right away.

Then, quietly: “No. But I think I’m afraid to find out.”

Morgana rested her hand gently over his, grounding him. “You don’t have to name it yet. Just… don’t ignore it.”

He nodded once.

And far above them, the first stars of evening flickered to life — silent, watching, waiting .

They start to walk back towards the castle, Arthur wiping sweat from his brow with the collar of his tunic. Morgana allows him his silence, for a little while, but she wouldn't let him wallow forever.

“You’ve gotten quiet,” Morgana said as they turned the corner past the tapestry corridor.

Arthur rolled his shoulder. “I’m thinking.”

“That’s dangerous.”

He gave her a look. “Says the woman who once rode out to face bandits without armor because she felt they wouldn’t attack.”

“And was I wrong?”

Arthur grumbled something unintelligible.

She smiled, satisfied. They walked on.

The corridor grew quieter — fewer guards, fewer torches. The stone cooled around them.

“Do you want him to trust you?” Morgana asked suddenly.

Arthur blinked. “Who?”

She raised a brow.

Arthur sighed. “Yes.”

“Then stop treating him like a servant.”

Arthur frowned. “I don’t—”

“You do,” she said gently, but firmly. “Not in the cruel way. But in the Camelot way. You expect him to follow, even when he doesn’t know the path.”

Arthur looked down at the floor as they walked. “I don’t know how to… get past that.”

“Then let him lead,” she said.

Arthur snorted. “He gets lost going to the stables.”

Morgana gave him a look. “That’s not what I mean.”

He sighed. “I know.”

They reached her chamber door. Gwen had likely already drawn the curtains and set the fire low, anticipating her return.

Morgana paused, then turned to face him fully. “He’s not silent because he doesn’t want to speak. He’s silent because he’s learned to be.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak.

Morgana reached out, touched his arm — grounding, familiar. “People like us… we were raised to be heard. People like him were raised to disappear. If you want him to trust you, you have to prove he’s safe in the light.”

Arthur’s throat worked around a quiet swallow. “And if I fail?”

“Then you break him,” she said simply. “And you’ll carry that weight forever.”

Arthur looked at her. Really looked. “You believe in him.”

“I see him,” she corrected. “That’s enough for now.”

She squeezed his arm, then slipped into her chambers without waiting for a reply.

The door closed quietly behind her.

Arthur stood there a moment longer in the corridor, the torchlight behind him and the shadow of her words ahead.

Then, finally, he turned and walked back the way they came — slower this time.

Thinking.

Chapter Text

It was late afternoon, the kind that painted the castle in amber light. The kitchens were warm with the scent of fresh bread, herbs steeping in oil, and the faint sweetness of honey somewhere nearby. Gwen stood by the wide sunlit window, folding linen napkins into neat squares. The air hummed softly with the sound of distant footsteps and the clatter of crockery.

Merlin lingered a few paces away, hands idle, clearly unsure what to do without Arthur to orbit.

“Is he in meetings again?” Gwen asked, not looking up from her work.

Merlin nodded, then caught himself – the instinctive motion, too quick, too small – and hesitated. After a beat, he lifted a hand, giving a faint, deliberate wave. Yes.

Gwen’s mouth quirked. “You don’t have to wait outside his chamber like a lost puppy, you know.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow at her, tilting his head, the ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth.

She gestured to the stack of linens beside her. “If you’re really that bored, you can make yourself useful.”

Merlin blinked, then smiled, lopsided, a little wary but warming, and stepped closer. He picked up a napkin and tried to mimic her folding. The attempt went completely awry, corners uneven and creased.

“Like this,” Gwen said, laughing softly. She took the cloth from his hands, her fingers deft and sure as she refolded it. When she handed it back, she moved slower this time, letting him follow each precise motion.

He watched her hands more than the linen, eyes wide and intent, and she realized he was memorizing movements the way most people memorized words.

They fell into rhythm. Gwen’s fingers moved with practiced grace; Merlin’s followed, hesitant at first, then steadier. The sunlight shifted as they worked, glancing off the polished stone, catching on motes of flour-dust floating in the golden air.

After a while, Gwen broke the quiet. “Is it strange? Without him around?”

Merlin glanced up, visibly startled by the question. He hesitated – then nodded, slowly.

She didn’t press. Instead, she folded another napkin, calm and deliberately unhurried. “You don’t have to be so careful around me, you know.”

Merlin’s brow knit, his confusion practically a palpable thing in the air.

“I see the way you flinch when people raise their voice,” Gwen said softly. “And the way you only breathe easy when Arthur’s nearby.”

She kept her eyes on the linen, not him – giving him space to retreat if he needed to. “You don’t have to explain it. I just… know what that’s like.”

Merlin froze for a moment. Then, wordlessly, he reached for another napkin. His hands were steadier now. He folded one – perfectly this time.

Gwen smiled, but said nothing. Let him have that quiet victory.

They worked in companionable silence. The air smelled faintly of yeast and rosemary. Somewhere down the corridor, someone was singing under their breath.

After a while, Gwen murmured, “I think he worries about you.”

Merlin’s hands go still.

“Arthur,” she clarified, probably a little unnecessarily, glancing at him to check he hears her. “He pretends to be impatient, but the moment you leave, he looks for you. Like he’s lost something he doesn’t quite know how to name.”

Merlin’s throat bobbed. His fingers curled slightly around the napkin in his lap.

“I think you confuse him,” she went on, voice warm with amusement. “But you steady him, too. You don’t need a voice to do that.”

He looked down, eyes tracing the folded linen. When he finally looked up again, there was a faint, grateful smile there – quiet and real. Gwen returned it, wordless, and together they began stacking the folded napkins into neat piles.

She carried her stack to a basket in the corner; Merlin followed, balancing a few lopsided ones, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. The sight made her bite back a smile.

“You know,” Gwen said conversationally over her shoulder, “I once tried to cook a whole goose for the royal feast when I was twelve.”

Merlin blinked, eyebrows rising.

“Oh yes,” she said, turning with a grin. “I thought I’d impress the cook. The goose caught fire. Not a little fire, either – a proper flame-pouring-out-of-the-oven disaster. Took four servants and a barrel of water to put it out.”

Merlin clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes bright with barely-stifled laughter.

“I was banned from the kitchens for a week,” Gwen said, grinning. “But the cook gave me a warm roll the next morning and told me I had guts. I think that’s when I learned failure isn’t the end of the world.”

Merlin tilted his head thoughtfully, then turned to rummage in a drawer. He came up with a scrap of parchment and a bit of charcoal. A few quick strokes later, he turned it toward her:

I once tried to sweep Arthur’s chambers and knocked over a suit of armor. It hit me. I apologised to it.

Gwen burst out laughing – full, unguarded laughter that filled the kitchen like sunlight.

“Oh no. You apologised? To a sheet of metal?”

Merlin shrugged, mock-sheepish, eyes gleaming. He scribbled again:

It was very shiny and judgmental.

Gwen laughed so hard she had to lean on the table for balance. When she finally caught her breath, she noticed something had shifted. Merlin’s shoulders had loosened. His hands were still now, not fidgeting. The quiet between them felt shared, not strained, a language all their own.

“You know,” Gwen said gently, “you’re allowed to laugh more often.”

Merlin raised his brows in mock offence, gesturing around the kitchen as if to say here? in public?

She chuckled. “Yes, even here. I think it suits you.”

He tapped the charcoal against his chin, pretending to think – leaving a small black smudge there. Gwen didn’t mention it; it suited him, in a boyish, endearing way. Then he scrawled another note:

I’ll consider it. On days when Arthur doesn’t nearly die.

Gwen gave a mock stern look. “That’s not going to leave many days.”

Merlin smirked as if to say ‘yeah, that’s the point.’

They fell back into quiet work – Gwen polishing goblets, Merlin drying plates – moving easily around one another, like they’d done this a hundred times before. And as Gwen watched him out of the corner of her eye, she thought, not for the first time, that Merlin wasn’t just Arthur’s servant.

He was something else entirely. Something steady and bright, like sunlight on stone.