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Chapter Text

Arthur found her in his chambers, tinkering by the vanity.

Their chambers, he corrected himself, and smiled at the thought alone. Well – they soon would be anyway.

The castle was full of life, servants and courtiers, knights and nobles bustling about – even now, setting decorations and readying thrones, and feasts and speeches –, preparing for the moment they would finally celebrate the coming of their new queen.

Guinevere still insisted – stubbornly, if he said so himself – to remain living in her home until the very day they were married. Then again, he would have expected nothing less. But with the ceremony a mere three days away, preparations to move her belongings to the palace were underway. Today, evidently, was the day for all manner of colorful little bottles.

“What are they?” he asked as he stepped closer, and startled her so badly she nearly dropped the one she held.

She put her free hand to her chest with a breathless chuckle. He tried not to laugh. “Sorry.”

Guinevere gave him a look, more amused than anything, slipping her hand in his with a smile. He took a moment to marvel at the sight of her, then brought his attention back to the vials.

“So, what are they?” he asked again.

She gave a delicate shrug. “Just…ladies’ things.”

“Ah, let me guess,” he ventured, taking the particular ladies’ thing she had now, filled to the brim by some sort of sparkling green liquid, and giving it a little shake. “This is for your hair.”

“No.”

“Mm, no? Alright. For your skin?”

“Mm-mm.”

He frowned. “Your eyes?”

She shook her head.

He gave her an appraising look. “You don’t any warts in places I should know about, do you?”

“No!” she denied with a gasp, wrestling the bottle from his hand and putting it back on the vanity with a decisive thud – all the while seemingly unimpressed by his attempts to suppress his laughter.

As much as he tried, he didn’t quite manage to sound serious as he said, “Forgive me.”

She gave a soft sigh, though there was a little smile at the corner of her mouth. “Why do you want to know about these things anyway?”

“Well,” he said, bringing her closer with a press of his hand to her back, “I’ll be spending a lot of time around them in the future - ” her eyes lit up now, teeth sinking into her lip - "so I thought I’d learn what they were. You know, so I don’t…accidentally poison myself.”

“How would you poison yourself with these?”

He shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”

She tilted her head just so, like she couldn’t quite disagree with that. Then, she asked, “Stranger than a king marrying a serving girl?”

He brought her closer still, with both hands at her waist. Her arms came around his shoulders. “Nothing strange about that,” he said, catching a glimpse of her bright smile before his eyes fluttered shut.

He leaned in for a kiss.

And all hell broke loose next to them.

Bright lights, and loud noises, and Guinevere screaming – and even as he shielded her, pushed her behind him, all Arthur could think of was the best way to get to his sword.

But when it settled, and the lights faded, all he could do was stand frozen in the spot.

For a moment, he thought he’d gone mad – one too many blows to the head, one too many responsibilities to carry out, something Merlin had put in his food – or maybe it was just him, so anxious to finally be married that his mind had conjured an image of Guinevere in the finest of red silks, with furs draped about her shoulders and a heavy cloak falling to her feet, and little jewels catching the light in her hair.

And then maybe, next to the dream, his anxiety had conjured a nightmare, of Guinevere in dark furs caked with blood, sword strapped to her back and a dagger at her hip, with a scar and a marking that marred her face.

At his side, Guinevere – his Guinevere, beautiful and unmarked and dressed in purple – gasped and grabbed his arm. And that, reason pierced his thoughts, probably meant he wasn’t just seeing things.

And for the first time in his life, Arthur found something he could not blame on Merlin.

One day earlier

Merlin hummed to himself, wiping down Gaius’s beakers. In a stroke of good will, he even decided to polish them.

Birds were singing, the sun was shining, Arthur was happy - Agravaine was miserable, probably - and Gwen was going to be queen. Finally. Now, at long last, he would have the pleasure of watching her get crowned by the end of the week.

Ah, he thought with satisfaction. Destiny.

When the door opened to reveal Gwen herself, Merlin beamed.

“Gwen!”

“Merlin,” she greeted kindly, her blue skirts swishing around her ankles.

“Do you need something?” he asked, eagerly shucking his current duties. Gaius would understand. With a grin, he added, “What might I do for the future queen of Camelot?”

In return, she offered a tremulous smile. “I, uh, I came for a sleeping draught.”

“Of course,” he said, going to the shelves. “Too excited to sleep?” he teased as he rummaged about.

“Something like that,” she allowed.

He paused, studying her more carefully. On second look, she did seem a bit…off. “Gwen,” he prompted, “are you alright?”

She gave him a firm nod, confident smile firmly in place. It took all of five seconds for it to be replaced by pure, sheer panic.

“Oh, Merlin, what am I doing?” she despaired. “I can’t be queen! What was I thinking?”

Ah. Well, he had already talked Arthur out of his panic about this marriage. It was only a matter of time before Gwen would succumb to it too, he supposed.

He abandoned the shelves and the vials, instead walking over to place both hands on her shoulders.

“Gwen,” he said, clear and firm, “you’ll make a wonderful queen.”

She gulped.

“Everyone thinks so,” he assured, and returned the frantic shaking of her head with a very enthusiastic nodding of his own.

She heaved a sigh. “Merlin…”

“Arthur thinks so.”

It was amazing, really. How just the mention of his name calmed her. Like a charm.

A little smile broke forth, too. “Really?”

Well, now she was just fishing for compliments.

“Really,” he said. “You know he wouldn’t ask you to marry him if he didn’t think you were the queen that Camelot deserves. I happen to know for a fact,” he added brightly, “that he said you’d proved yourself more than capable these past few months.”

Gwen’s eyes softened. “He did?”

Merlin nodded. “Yeah.”

She smiled wider, beautiful and bright.

But then it dwindled again. “I fear he thinks too highly of me,” she said quietly. “And that he’ll be disappointed when I don’t live up to it. Along with the whole of Camelot.”

“Who’s to say you’ll disappoint anyone?”

She sighed again.

Now, he did, too. “You’re the smartest, wisest person I know, Gwen,” he said. “If anyone can do it, it’s you. Besides,” he added, “being queen isn’t about where you come from, it’s about what you believe in. Like justice, and fairness, and…things like that.”

She gave him a look. “That may be so, but…there are things to know. And I’m just now beginning to see how much – did you know it’s the queen’s job to look over grain reports and present their written summary to the king?”

He hadn’t, actually. “Isn’t that Leon’s job?”

“Only because Camelot hasn’t had a queen in twenty-five years.”

Catrina the Troll excluded, he presumed. “Alright, so…you’ll write a lot of dull summaries, what’s the problem?”

Fear filled her eyes again. “I’ve never written anything like that,” she mumbled.

He shrugged. “I’m sure you learn these things.”

She gave a tight huff, and wrenched her head away.

Merlin frowned. “Gwen,” he asked – slowly, carefully, “you do want to be queen, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” she said, like it was all she’d ever dreamed of, and he breathed a little easier. “But…” She turned away from him now, pacing around the quarters. “I think I’m capable of it, that I would even be a good queen – ”

“A great one.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Perhaps even that,” she allowed. “Especially when Arthur – ” She shook her head a little. “But then I remember that I was never taught how to do all these things, and…I’m not so sure that, maybe…maybe another wouldn’t be better suited for it.”

It broke his heart to hear her say it. “Did you tell Arthur about this?”

“I can’t tell Arthur about this.”

“No, of course not, why would you talk to your future husband about something like this?” he deadpanned. “Makes no sense.”

“It’s not that important.”

“It is if it keeps you up at night.”

“It doesn’t – ” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “I’m sure it’s just all this anticipation that’s getting to me,” she dismissed the next moment.

Merlin withheld a sigh. “Right.”

She pinned him with a look. “Not a word of this to Arthur.”

“Aye aye, m’lady,” he muttered.

She grew contrite from one blink to the next. “I didn’t mean it like – ”

“I know,” he assured softly. Knowing when a battle was lost, he relented, and finally circled back to fetch her what she’d come for.

“Gaius’s newest concoction,” he told her as he transferred the vial into her care. “It could knock out a horse.”

She looked a little alarmed.

“As long as you only take two drops, you’ll be fine,” he assured.

Finally, she smiled again. “Thank you, Merlin,” she said, with all her usual sweetness and care. He returned it as they bid their farewells, and frowned at the door when it closed after her.

There was no doubt in his mind that there was no woman – in the kingdom, the land, the world – who belonged on that throne more than Guinevere. Arthur would certainly be the first to agree.

Gwen would probably agree, too, if she could just see she had no reason to worry.

She was more than capable...

She just needed the chance to show it.

Merlin grinned.

Just a little arranging of circumstances, to give her the opportunity to prove herself and restore her confidence. And he just so happened to have the perfect set of skills for the job.

A little magic never hurt anyone.

With renewed zeal, he skipped the steps to the upper level two at a time, turning over the old books. Gaius had told him once, that manipulating reality was complicated and unexplored business, the writing and spells that did exist having been largely destroyed in the Great Purge.

Looking through them now, Merlin could see that he had been entirely right. Aside from some faded account of what such magic entailed, he found only one actual spell.

He pursed his lips at it. It wouldn’t quite do the job.

Still, if the spell was lacking, then he would just…improve upon it. Invent a new one.

How hard could it be?

Gwen had never thought that a room with so many people in it could be so quiet.

Even Gaius, always so quick to explain and adapt, stood as silent as a mute in the face of – this.

She had seen sorcery (and sorcery, it had to be) bring many strange things to Camelot – witches, and goblins, and griffins, and trolls – but this – this was too bizarre to comprehend.

To see her own face stare back at her, not once but twice – what sort of magic did this?

Finally, it was one of the – – women, who spoke. The one dressed all in red, with jewels in her hair. She had to a noble, a lady of the highest standing. A queen.

And if she spoke, it was only to comment upon the same thing she had mentioned before. “You have no experience in dealing with other worlds, I take it?”

Ah, yes. Other worlds. That was what she had said first, too, before Arthur had yelled for the guards to fetch Gaius and Merlin – that they were from different worlds. As if that…made sense.

The other one, with the blades and the marking, had not uttered a single word. Gwen had never thought she could be so frightened of her own reflection either, twisted and strange as it might be.

Under her hand, Arthur gave a little jolt. “M – er, my – lady – um, Your – High-Highness?” he stammered.

She bowed her head. “Guenevere.”

“Of course,” he said, as if in a daze – then shook his head, paused, sighed, and swiveled frantically to the side. “Gaius?”

It seemed Gaius had at last recovered from his surprise. “It is true, my lord,” he said, carefully, “that some have spoken of other worlds, that…exist in parallel to ours. Such theories, of course, are obscure, and the sorcery that would access them – ” why his eyes slipped to Merlin as he said it, Gwen had no idea – “even more so.”

“My world is no less real than this one,” the first – the one – the – Guenevere, spoke again. “Or any other in the universe. The worlds themselves, are numberless. And in each, we are all different versions of ourselves. The same but…” She smiled sweetly. “Different.”

“You’re…very knowledgeable,” Arthur commented, and sounded – more than a little dazed.

Gwen’s eyes snapped over to him. Was he actually – charmed? By her – her – her doppelganger?

The same doppelganger offered a wider smile still. “We mean you no harm,” she assured.

Expectedly, in Gwen’s opinion, all eyes went to her companion. She raised her eyebrows at all of them, arms crossed over her chest. “I don’t.”

Again, Gwen was struck by how completely, utterly bizarre it was to hear her own voice, from the mouths of those who looked so like her, and yet were so…unlike her. Same but different, she supposed.

Another thing she had supposed, was that Arthur would have more sense than to be taken by these women – or even just one of them. And yet, his posture had grown more relaxed, his voice coloring with curiosity as he asked, “So, I don’t understand, how is there…two of you?”

“We’re not from the same world.”

“Oh, you’re…from two different…” He took a deep breath. “Right. That’s not going to be…confusing at all. Three…Guineveres.”

There, he seemed to remember that she did still stand at his side, meeting her eyes with concern. But not, as she might have expected from the king, with any apparent concern for safety. Only like he feared she might be overwhelmed and on the brink of panicking.

Which she was.

But honestly, how was he so easily swayed by them? 

It was the frightening one who spoke next. “My name is Gwenhwyfar.”

Oh, variety. Lovely.

“Can we call you Gwen?” Merlin asked.

“No.”

“Alright, then.”

At this juncture, Arthur seemed to remember what he ought to be doing – which was to interrogate them – and asked, “Why are you here?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Guenevere said. “It wasn’t our doing. At least, I assume…” She turned to – Gwenhwyfar, who only shook her head. Seemingly satisfied, Guenevere continued. “It took powerful magic to bring us here, that much is certain – ” Gwen’s stomach turned – “but we did not wield it, and we do not have the power to undo it.”

Gwen was sure she would panic now.

Merlin was biting his nails.

Arthur frowned.

“You don’t seem very concerned.”

She smiled again. “I will be missed,” she said. “It won’t be long before my husband comes to bring me back. And yes,” she added at Arthur’s look, “he does look a lot like you.”

Arthur turned to Gwen again, grinning. The best she could offer in return was a grimace.

He patted her arm in comfort – and again, she despaired that he wasn’t more concerned about this.

“And I’m sure,” Guenevere now turned to Gwenhwyfar, “that he will be happy to return you to your world as well.”

The look she received in return could have frozen over fire.

“Won’t someone come for you as well?” Merlin piped in once more – even he, Gwen realized, was more curious than wary. Her last hope for common sense was Gaius, and as she glanced over to him, she did find long-needed solace in the fact that he seemed about as distrusting as she felt.

“No one in my world wields enough power to do this,” Gwenhwyfar was saying, a tightness to her voice. “And none of them would want to.”

That last bit, if Gwen wasn’t mistaken, was a jab against Guenevere.

The latter bristled. “Well, it is wise, to only want to attempt what you can do,” she said, and the false sweetness that filled her words as she added, “But I’m sure one day they’ll amass enough power between them to cause a ripple at the gates,” could have cut through stone.

Gwenhwyfar uncrossed her arms, fingers twitching like she might just reach for her dagger.

Arthur bit his lip. “You two have met before, I take it?”

“Yes,” they said as one – though it was hard to tell which one was less pleased about it.

“How, exactly?” he asked.

Guenevere took a deep breath, raising her chin. “I am no stranger to different worlds,” she said. “My husband makes something of a habit of travelling between them.”

Arthur stood a little straighter, muscles tightening under her touch, and Gwen rejoiced. Finally – caution!

“Habit?” he echoed.

For the first time, Guenevere faltered. Her eyes went over each of them, studying. Merlin first, head to toe, her eyes narrowing – then Gaius, with the same treatment, and finally – her.

Their eyes met, and Gwen was sure that no matter what she learned or saw next, for however long she lived, would ever be as strange as this moment.

When she spoke again, it was once more to Arthur, but Guenevere’s words were weighed more carefully. “You understand that all of this requires magic, my lord?”

Arthur squared his shoulders. “Yes,” he said tightly.

“Is that a problem?”

He was quiet for a time, only to, in the end, merely cite the law, “Magic is not allowed in Camelot.”

“I see.” Guenevere nodded – and why she slipped a look in Merlin’s direction as she did, Gwen couldn’t say. “But please understand,” she said, “that it is not so in my world. Or in Gwenhwyfar’s.” They looked to each other again, and on this single subject, seemed to be in solidarity. “We did not ask to be here, and we mean you no harm. All we ask is that you mean us no harm in return.”

And just like that, all hope for caution was lost.

“Of course not, my lady,” Arthur was quick to assure.

There was a flare of – something in her chest, though Gwen could not name it. 

Guenevere smiled, bowing her head. “Thank you.”

“And I assure you,” she added, “that if my husband has this habit, it is only because he believes that new things, new wisdom, can be gathered from each world. He works with those who have magic, but he does not have it himself – and neither do I. If you will allow this one exception to your laws, we can put all of this behind us quickly and painlessly.”

Arthur nodded, accepting this.

Gwenhwyfar rolled her eyes, the marking on her face moving with it. Gwen looked over to her, letting her gaze settle this time.

On the left side of her face, black ink drew a path from her temple to the middle of her cheek, a thick and long line. Gwen thought it looked a lot like a snake.

And on the other, a scar, white and faded, marked a half-moon around her eye.

Gwen’s eyes slipped lower, to the vest she wore over her shirt, lined with fur marred by dried, blackened blood – lower still, to the large dagger at her hip, and the flecks of mud that dotted her tights, here and there, all the way down to the tips of her boots.

When she looked up again, Gwenhwyfar was watching her. She hastily averted her gaze.

“How quickly are we talking about, exactly?” Arthur’s voice commanded her attention.

“They shan’t be long,” Guenevere assured. “A day, at most.”

“A whole day?” Gwen let out, and all eyes immediately went to her.

It was probably the first time she had spoken since they had appeared, she realized – and it was to embarrass herself. She swallowed. “I mean,” she backtracked, “I – I just – it just doesn’t seem all that quick, is all.” She promptly looked to her feet after that.

After a moment, she felt Arthur’s hand on hers. He took it, to place it on his arm through the crook of his elbow, and gave it a comforting squeeze. When she looked up to meet his eyes, he gave her the smallest of nods, as if to reassure her everything would be alright.

She let herself believe it, and clung to him for dear life.

“However long it takes,” Guenevere was speaking again, “the only thing we can do is wait.”

“Um, of course,” Arthur agreed. “You, uh, you may stay here.” He gestured to the rest of his chambers, and Gwen fought the urge to just – pinch some sense into him.

“Thank you,” Guenevere said. With that, she undid the clasp on the cloak she wore – and stood waiting expectantly.

After a false start and a very pointed look from Arthur, Merlin flew over to her side. “Allow me, my, uh, lady.”

She nodded politely as he took the cloak from her shoulders, to fully reveal the finest of red gowns, but did not thank him.

Merlin draped it over the back of one chair, pulling another for her to sit, asking if he may offer her something to drink, and Gwen was overcome by the oddest sense that she could see into the future.

Was this what it would be like? For her and Merlin? Deference rather than friendship, servitude rather than company? She hadn’t even thought about it. Merlin was such a constant, such a friend, that she had never imagined that it would – that it could even change.

It wouldn’t be like this, would it?

The clank of the goblet against the table brought her out of her thoughts.

Merlin turned to Gwenhwyfar. “Would you like me to take your, uh – ” He gestured vaguely up and down her chest. “I could clean it, um…take out the…er, blood…from it? If – if you want.”

She gave him an odd sort of look, a softness to it that Gwen hadn’t thought her capable of. “You don’t have to trouble yourself.”

Merlin grinned in that bright way of his, shrugging, and Gwen found herself longing for things she hadn’t even lost yet. “It’s no trouble.”

“Well, alright, then,” Gwenhwyfar agreed, unstrapping the sword from her back. The golden hilt of it caught the light from the window before she propped it against a cupboard. She undid the ties and the clasps of her vest next, until the clothing was in Merlin’s hands.

Without it, she seemed a little smaller, but it opened the view to the play of muscles beneath her shirt, well-defined and strong in ways Gwen could never hope of achieving herself.

She glanced at Arthur. He had the most transfixed look on his face, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

There was that flare in her chest again.

With the bundle safely in Merlin’s arms, Arthur proposed, “While you wait, perhaps you’d like something to pass the time? Some entertainment?”

“I’m good,” Gwenhwyfar said, and promptly turned to stand by the window.

Guenevere, however, had requests. “I shall do as my husband and take the opportunity to learn,” she declared. “Perhaps some writings for me to read?”

“Yes, certainly,” Arthur was eager to please. “Gaius?”

Gaius smoothly obliged. “What would you care for, my lady?”

“Hm, some history of this world,” she mused. “Perhaps a history of the great families of the land?”

“I shall do my best to find something to your tastes,” Gaius assured, then gestured for Merlin to come along.

Gwen almost begged to take her with them.

But alas, the door closed behind the two, and she was left to endure.

Chapter Text

He barely had a foot in the door before Gaius whirled on him.

“What did you do, Merlin?”

Standing in the doorway, arms full of bloodied fur – that, strangely, somehow also smelt of berries –, Merlin huffed, indignant. “What makes you think this is my fault?”

Gaius only raised an eyebrow.

Oh, well. “Alright, fine, it was me.”

“Why on Earth would you do this?”

Heaving a great sigh, Merlin shouldered the door shut. “It’s not exactly what I was trying to do,” he said, moving across the room to find something to soak the furs in. Gaius’s eyes followed him the entire way. Pulling out basins and cleaning supplies, Merlin added, “I was trying to help Gwen. She’s been…I think she’s a little overwhelmed by the thought of becoming queen.”

“And how was this going to help her?”

“Did I mention it’s not what I was trying to do?”

Gaius sighed and looked to the heavens.

“She’s worried about whether she’s capable enough to be queen, so I thought I’d just…give her the chance to show that she was,” Merlin laid out his defense – which, as he heard it now, didn’t sound as solid anymore. “You know, just…arrange circumstances so she’d have the chance to prove herself.”

“Arrange circumstances?” Gaius echoed, not in the least impressed.

“Yeah, you know, just…manipulate reality…a little bit.”

“Well, congratulations,” Gaius deadpanned, “you’ve succeeded.”

Merlin chewed his on his tongue but, in the end, couldn’t help himself. “It’s pretty impressive, isn’t it?”

“No, Merlin, it’s not,” Gaius said, unyielding. Perhaps some praise was too much to hope for. “You’ve brought not one, but two otherworldly creatures into this world,” he went on, “and who knows what the consequences will be.” Exasperated, he asked, “How did you even do this?”

“I may have…created a spell,” Merlin muttered.

“Merlin!”

“I’m sorry! But I – I mean, there’s none that exist that would serve my purposes so I…took the one that did and…added some things.”

Gaius stood as an immovable pillar of disappointment. “Do you even know the first thing about creating spells?”

“Not really…”

“And yet you thought you ought to trifle with reality without knowing the first about it? For fun?”

“To help,” Merlin corrected – which, in his opinion, was a very important distinction. “And I didn’t trifle with anything, I just – added some words. About…showing Gwen what she could be, and…holding a mirror to what’s inside her – or something like that.” He bit his lip. “It’s hard to translate the old tongue.”

“Creating new magic is notoriously difficult, Merlin,” Gaius lectured. “Those who dabble in it spend years training and learning before attempting. You have to know how to ask for things. Specifically.”

 Merlin pursed his lips. “Hmm, yes, I can see how what I did wasn’t…like that.”

“Oh, can you?”

“Gaius – ” He gave up. “I’ll make it right.”

“You will do no such thing,” Gaius said. When Merlin made to protest, he added, “You’ve done enough harm as it is. Leave it to those from the other worlds to come and reclaim theirs.”

“But – ”

“Do not attempt anything,” Gaius warned. “Let those who know what they’re doing right this wrong.”

“I was just trying to help Gwen,” Merlin muttered.

“Yes, I’m sure this is very helpful to her.”

Merlin deflated, letting the furs drop into the basin with a forlorn splash. “Yeah, alright,” he said. “I won’t do anything else.”

“Good,” Gaius concluded, seemingly satisfied. “Now, while you wash that, I must go find some light reading for – ” there was a slight break in his words – “the queen.”

Merlin couldn’t quite help his smile. “She does look great as queen, doesn’t she?”

Gaius’s expression didn’t change. “It’s not Gwen, Merlin.”

“Yeah, but – it will be,” Merlin said. “In a few days, our Gwen will look just like that, too.”

Though he tried to hide it, Gaius smiled, too, even as he headed for the door. “Wash your furs, Merlin.”

Perhaps some water would help her.

Or a gallon of wine.

It wouldn’t be that hard to acquire, would it? Surely, Gwaine could procure it for her on short notice.

In the meantime, Gwen settled for a goblet of water to try and soothe her nerves.

Arthur walked up to her, sympathy in his eyes. “Are you alright?” he asked. “You haven’t said much.”

“I’m fine,” she declared, putting on her bravest face, and poured herself another goblet. Maybe, if she imagined it was wine, it would have the same effect.

With a soft click of his tongue, Arthur took a step closer, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I really can’t imagine how strange this must be for you.”

She looked over her shoulder – to Guenevere, sitting at the table, back straight as an arrow, patiently waiting for her reading, and Gwenhwyfar, still standing by the window. Gwen didn’t think she had moved at all.

Strange was definitely one way to describe what she was feeling. Worried, was another.

“Is it wise to keep them here?” she asked, keeping her voice quiet.

“Well, I can’t very well let them wander about the palace,” Arthur said. “The fewer people know about this, the better.”

That was a very good point. Still – “They could be dangerous.”

“Oh, come on,” he dismissed. “They’re harmless.”

She gave him a pointed look, then subtly nodded to the window.

His eyes followed. “Alright, she might not be entirely harmless,” he conceded. But then, curiosity lit his eyes again. “I wonder how she came to be a warrior…”

Gwen tried not to sound impatient as she said, “Is that really what’s important here?”

He looked back to her, blinking.

“Arthur, they were brought here by sorcery,” she kept her voice lower still, almost a whisper.

Some of the levity left him. “I know.”

“We don’t know by whom, or for what purpose. You must be wary of them.”

He chewed on his lip. “Be that as it may, I don’t believe this was their doing. Or that they have magic.”

“You take them on their word?”

“Well, I – I don’t really have a reason not to.”

She held back a sigh. “We’ve no idea if they’re telling the truth, and even if they are – if it was not magic from their worlds that brought them here, does not logic dictate that it was someone in ours that wielded it?”

That seemed to finally get to him. “You’re right,” he said, gently rubbing her arms. “But if that is true, then I still cannot guess their intentions.”

“All the more reason,” Gwen argued, “to remain cautious.”

“Well, what should I do?” he asked. “Put them in the dungeons? Because I fear that will certainly reveal their presence here. Besides, if I do it – ” he glanced towards the table – “I will probably start some kind of war with…another me from another world. And she – ” he shifted his gaze to the window – “might just kill me herself.”

All valid concerns, she agreed. But – “They don’t have to know they’re prisoners.”

Slowly, he dragged his eyes back to hers. He had the oddest look on his face. “Don’t you think that’s a bit…”

She raised her eyebrows.

"Harsh?”

She did sigh this time. “You’ve grown fond of them already, haven’t you?”

His mouth opened and closed without a sound for a while, eyes skipping helplessly about the room. “Well, they – they look like you, I can’t help it.”

Despite herself, Gwen bit her lip, fighting a smile. “That’s the problem, I think,” she remarked gently. At his frown, she did truly smile, and added, “You can’t tell me you wouldn’t be warier if it they bore someone else’s likeness.”

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“But you must remember, that just because they look like me, doesn’t mean they are me,” she cautioned. “You must treat them as any other strangers who would come here under such circumstances.”

He was nodding along, a smile at the corner of his mouth. “I fear that if I start interrogating them, as I would any other stranger, they will know something is amiss,” he said softly.

She shrugged. “The best way to interrogate someone without their knowledge is to let them think you’re friends.”

His smile widened. “Did I ever tell you – ” He took the goblet from her hands and put it away, so he could take her in his arms. Her hands went to his shoulders. “That you are very wise?”

She pretended to think about it. “Well…it doesn’t hurt to hear it again.”

He hummed softly, affection in his eyes, and lowered his head for a kiss.

Gwen leaned away – then withheld a laugh at the sight of him, frozen inches from her, eyes half-closed and lips puckered.

They turned down in a little frown as he straightened. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he muttered, still staring at her mouth.

With perfect timing to steer them both back to matters at hand, the doors opened to reveal Gaius, a heavy tome in his arms. Before Gwen could move more than a step out of Arthur’s hold to assist, Gwenhwyfar was already across the room, arms out.

“Here, let me,” she said.

Gwen couldn’t say who among them was more surprised.

Then again – she had been kind to Merlin, too.

“Thank you,” Gaius recovered graciously, transferring the load.

Gwenhwyfar didn’t seem to mind the book’s heaviness in the slightest, though its weight did become apparent when she let it drop atop the table with a resounding thud.

“Enjoy,” she said, and once again left them all behind for the apparent pleasures of the window. Gwen met Arthur’s eyes, and bit back a laugh.

“I hope you will find it to your satisfaction, my lady,” Gaius was saying.

“I’m sure I will,” Guenevere assured. “Thank you.”

Gaius bowed, and, at Arthur’s nod, left them once more.

As Guenevere began turning the pages, Gwen gave Arthur a light nudge. He seemed to understand her meaning perfectly, taking hold of her hand to steer them to the table. She allowed herself to be seated into a chair with his assistance, folding her hands in her lap as he took his own seat, opposite Guenevere.

She bestowed one of her polite smiles upon them, then returned to her reading. Gwen glanced at the page, expecting to look upon the Pendragon name. The House of Leodogran, it read instead.

“So,” Arthur began, “what great family are you from?”

Was it really so clear to him, that she could have never been born into anything other than a noble family?

And would he prefer, Gwen wondered, now that he knew this version of her, if she had been, too?

No – no, that was a ridiculous thought.

“None that you would know, I’m afraid,” Guenevere was saying, though her fingers lingered on the page.

But Arthur was not deterred. “I could.”

Guenevere looked up, an ambiguous sort of half-smile on her lips. She turned the page, and a new family name appeared. The House of Leodogran must not have lasted long in history.

“My father,” Guenevere spoke, “was King Thomas of Cameliard. You will not find him in this book.”

“Perhaps that is because here, he was a blacksmith,” Gwen said, in an impulsive stroke of pride, and found herself looking her doppelganger in the eyes again. She couldn’t glean her thoughts, but perhaps she did detect a trace of sympathy. And perhaps only because they had both spoken of him as if he were gone from the world.

“And there is no such place as Cameliard here,” Arthur commented.

Guenevere looked to him again. “I know, in some worlds, they call it Deorham.”

Arthur nodded. “That one does exist,” he allowed, then cocked his head. “Is Camelot ever known by any other name?”

“Not that my husband has ever said.”

By the window, Gwenhwyfar made a noise of disapproval.

If her manner were less contained, Guenevere probably would have rolled her eyes. “Perhaps, just this once, you could keep your thoughts about my husband’s expeditions to yourself,” she said instead, turning her head to the side just so.

And evidently, Gwenhwyfar could not. “It’s unnatural. It upsets the balance of things.”

“No harm has ever been done.”

“Yet.”

Guenevere turned back to them. “Forgive her. She abhors the idea of such travels.”

“Don’t speak for me.”

With a soft sigh, Guenevere declared, “As you wish,” and proceeded to ignore her.

Gwen couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the sight of watching herself argue with…herself.

Arthur was staring at the both of them.

“What makes it unnatural?” he asked, in what was probably more recklessness than boldness, and Gwen saw the exact moment the same thought crossed Guenevere’s mind.

But he had nevertheless succeeded in getting Gwenhwyfar’s attention. “The worlds are separate for a reason,” she said, facing them. “They exist in balance to each other. To breach that defies the way of things.”

“No one in your world has ever studied such things closely enough that you would know that,” Guenevere argued, not once glancing around.

“I know the laws of nature,” Gwenhwyfar fired back.

Now, Guenevere did turn around in her chair. “Has it ever occurred to you, that if you would just open your mind to this, you could actually gain the knowledge you need to win that war you’re fighting?”

“I do not need to abuse magic to win my battles.”

Guenevere huffed. “You call it abuse of power, when all it is, is an opportunity to learn.”

“Right, because that’s what your king’s expeditions are,” Gwenhwyfar mocked. “A noble pursuit of knowledge.”

“It is, and it proves very useful.” Guenevere insisted, though Gwenhwyfar scoffed. “You deny it, but tell me,” Guenevere challenged, “who is that sits on the throne of Camelot? My husband or your prince?”

Gwenhwyfar’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

What prince?

But by the proud raise of her chin, Guenevere seemed to consider the argument won, and returned to her reading once more, satisfied.

Arthur glanced between the two of them, mouth opening and closing as if he might just ask something, then thinking the better of it – once, twice, and then he really did say it. “If you can ask me to extend you the courtesy of accepting that your laws about magic are different to mine, can you two not extend the same courtesy to each other on this?”

All eyes went to him.

“The laws of men regarding magic may change,” Gwenhwyfar said, “but the laws of magic itself do not.”

“I thought it was the laws of nature?”

Why was he doing this?

“They’re one and the same,” Gwenhwyfar proclaimed, even taking a step closer in her passion.

Arthur frowned, and made to speak again. Gwen quickly laid a gentle hand on his arm to stay his words, giving him a pointed look when he turned to meet her eyes. This is no way to make friends.

He seemed to have caught her meaning, nodding ever-so-slightly. “Forgive me,” he said to Gwenhwyfar, “I spoke without thinking.”

It became obvious he had done something else without thinking when he glanced past her to the window, and his eyes widened. “Uh, I must go.”

Gwen froze. “What?”

He presented his formal excuses – which only Guenevere acknowledged – and pulled her with him as he stood and walked to the doors.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, “but there’s a meeting with the council I must attend. At midday. Which is now. I’d forgotten about it.”

With her heart in her throat, Gwen pleaded, “You can’t leave me alone with them.”

He bit his lip, then took on an air of confidence. “You’ll be fine.”

“Arthur…”

“If we want to maintain their presence here a secret, I must keep up appearances,” he reasoned. “You’ll do fine. Just, uh – ” he scratched his head – “think of it as entertaining guests.”

“You can’t be serious.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “Trust me, just think of them as…a pair of visiting ladies that you’ve got to keep busy for a while, and…all will be well.”

She gulped.

“The guards are just outside if you need them. Besides,” he added, “I’ve never known anyone better at – ” he gave her a loaded look – “making friends, than you.”

That was a blatant lie. And yet, she found herself agreeing. “Alright.”

“Alright,” he echoed, pressing a small kiss to her cheek before heading out.

She was on her own.

He did not hear a word that was said.

Leon was competent in matters of state, meticulous in his work, if not always succinct in his phrasing, but the man could not sustain an audience if his life depended on it. Arthur truly, wholeheartedly, longed for the day it would finally be Guinevere that relayed these reports to him instead.

As was often the case at times like these, his thoughts turned to her instead. Except now there were three of her.

It brought back memories of stories he’d heard as a boy, from some old days, about the king who had to marry and bed three versions of the same woman to earn the right to rule – and then he tried very hard not to think about it.

But what a thing it was, to imagine countless worlds that existed – in parallel, as Gaius had called it, or in balance as Gwenhwyfar had, to each other. How did that even work? The image he had, akin to a juggler’s balls flying about every which way, was probably not right.

Did time flow the same way? Were they all created at the same moment? Could new ones be created, springing into existence like a new ball being added to the jig?

Guenevere had said such things were studied in her world, explored, like some manner of science. Gaius would probably adore to hear of such things. Arthur was far more taken by the woman herself. If she had come here just days later, he probably would not be able to tell her apart from his Guinevere.

Gwenhwyfar, on the other hand…

He was tirelessly hung up on how she had come to be, where she had gotten her scar and her marking, his curiosity giving him no rest. The strangeness of seeing such oddities on Guinevere’s face paled in comparison to seeing such build and brawn on her body. And, almost as a child, he was most curious about whether she could best him in a fight.

Surely not?

But…there was a way to find out. And surely, there was no better way to make friends with a warrior than a friendly match?

Arthur smiled to himself.

Leon, poor thing, took it as encouragement and went on for another ten minutes.

The moment he was done, Arthur dismissed the council – idly pleased when his uncle seemed to be in a good mood and not like he was fighting the urge to talk him out of his choice of queen –, and held Leon back.

He retold the whole thing, from the bright flashes to the parallel worlds, to the party of three now sequestered in his chambers. At first, Leon had laughed.

But by the end of it - “So, you’re saying that there are, at this very moment…three different…Gwens, locked in your chambers…sire?”

“Yes.”

Leon nodded, taking it in stride. “What would you have me do?”

“Well, you must tell no one but a few, this must remain as closely guarded a secret as possible,” Arthur ordered. “Just the knights – ”

“Percival, Gwaine and Elyan?”

“Exactly, and see to it that you arrange for all of us to go for an…outing.”

“An outing, my lord?”

“Yes, somewhere outside the city – and, uh, find a way to smuggle Guenevere and Gwenhwyfar out of here without anyone noticing. Oh, and bring weapons.” He gave it some more thought. “Merlin will pack a picnic.”

Leon was staring at him blankly. “Certainly.”

Arthur grinned.

“Uh, may I ask, sire,” Leon said, “why are we doing this?”

Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re making friends.”

Gwen turned to the others, a lump in her throat. Pushing down her panic, she squared her shoulders, and blew out a breath.

So, then. She was the future queen of Camelot. She could do this.

With mostly false bravery, she made her way to the window. “I’m sorry about what Arthur said.”

Gwenhwyfar spared her a cursory glance. “It’s alright.”

“He meant no offense.”

“I’m sure.”

Gwen watched her for a moment, staring out onto the training grounds below like she had the world on her mind. Perhaps some talk about the subject she was so passionate about would engage her.

“What did you mean,” Gwen asked, “when you said the laws of nature and…magic, were the same?”

Now, Gwenhwyfar met her gaze fully. It was different, to look into her eyes, than it had been to look into Guenevere’s. There was more fire there. Something more honest, too.

“They are,” she said.

Gwen shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Magic is the very fabric of the world,” Gwenhwyfar said, a soft sigh leaving her lips, “of all the worlds. It’s been here since long before the time of men, and it will be here long after they are gone. Nature itself – ” she smiled, ever-so-faintly – “is brimming with it. It is the life of every leaf shaking in the wind, every drop of water in a stream, every…crack of thunder, even.” She shrugged. “For those who can feel it…it is as a song heard through all of nature.”

Such beauty she described, such melody, in a force so dark and twisted. “You can feel it?” Gwen asked. “Even now?”

“Even now.” Gwenhwyfar smiled again. “I do not have magic, but…my people can sense it.”

Her people… Gwen looked her over once more. The snake on her face seemed almost alive, moving in the sunlight. “You’re a druid,” she realized.

Gwenhwyfar nodded.

Gwen cocked her head. “I thought the druids were a peaceful people?”

“What makes you think we’re not?”

Honestly, Gwen thought her appearance alone spoke for itself. “Well, there’s the matter of that…war you’re fighting,” she said. “And you’re clearly a warrior, so…”

For a while, nothing could be heard but the rustling of pages by the table. Eventually, Gwenhwyfar rolled her shoulders – and all of her muscles moved with it. “It’s true we’ve not been at peace for many years,” she allowed. “But someday.”

“You think so?”

She shrugged. “All things must end eventually. This war will, too.”

“In your lifetime?”

“I hope so.” She went quiet after that, turning her eyes to the fields again.

Gwen watched her expression change, almost as a mask washing away, to the sounds of the knights’ grunts and the clashing of their swords.

“That man,” she asked suddenly, “who is he?”

Thrown by the change of topic, Gwen followed her line of sight, and frowned. “That’s Elyan…he’s my brother.”

“Thought it might be,” Gwenhwyfar said softly. “He looks a lot like Mother.”

Oh.  “Everyone’s always said so,” Gwen offered kindly.

Gwenhwyfar nodded. “I lost my brother a long time ago,” she spoke, a thickness to her voice. “I suppose – ” she swallowed – “it’s not the worst thing to see what he would’ve become.”

“I’m sorry,” Gwen told her, “that you did not have the chance in your world.”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

Gwen blinked to dispel her tears. “Well, he’s a knight here,” she said, turning to Guenevere – and found her watching. “And in your world?”

“A king,” she obliged.

All of Gwen’s breath left her in a rush. “A king?”

“Well, we are both the children of one,” Guenevere said – out of the corner of her eye, Gwen caught Gwenhwyfar dabbing a finger under hers. “Elyan inherited Father’s throne upon his death.”

Gwen gave a startled chuckle. “I really can’t imagine Father as a king,” she commented. “Or Elyan.”

“But you can imagine yourself as queen?”

Gwen froze.

“I saw the band on your finger,” Guenevere said further, as if to explain her query – as if that was the part that needed explaining.

“I think it’s the more the question itself she’s got a problem with,” Gwenhwyfar remarked pointedly.

Guenevere’s eyes widened. “Oh…forgive me, I meant no offense. I was just curious.”

She wasn’t the mirror to her future, this woman, Gwen realized. If there was a mirror there, it was only to everything she was not. Born noble, destined for a crown from the moment she had come into this world, with a flawless manner and a flawless heritage. The perfect queen.

A false reassurance for Her Majesty was at the tip of her tongue, but the words wouldn’t pass her lips.

It rose in her like a flame, the urge to fight it. Gwenhwyfar, with all her temper and her righteousness, was as a bright shadow at her side, stoking the flame, the desire to just stand tall and proclaim that she was not unfit to be queen just because she was a serving girl.

In the end, what she said was, “Yes, I know how curious you are for new things. But I don’t see what you could learn from me.”

Strangely or not, Guenevere smiled – just a small twitch of her lips, like she couldn’t quite help herself.

Gwen cleared her throat. “But I hope your curiosity was satisfied by your reading?”

“Quite,” Guenevere assured after a beat, glancing to the pages again. “The history of this land is quite different to that of mine.”

Excellent, a subject she could use to pass the time and take the focus off herself. “How so?” Gwen asked, moving to retake her seat at the table. With some coaxing and a gentle ‘please’, Gwenhwyfar joined them.

Guenevere regaled them with stories, of the houses and the kingdoms, those that had fallen here but not there, that stood tall there but wilted to dust here. She told them steadily, like a queen speaking to her court, not that much heart in it, and while Gwenhwyfar was probably bored out of her mind listening to it, Gwen soon found herself clinging to every word, as she would to stories as a child.

That the House of Leodogran would come from the Old Kings, their round table entrusted in their care to be passed down to descendants, was stranger and more fascinating than any bedtime story that she had ever been told.

She imagined her father as king, an impossible image, and laughed when Guenevere recalled the time it was discovered that Elyan’s head was too small for their father’s crown, and a debate had ensued over whether magic should be used to shrink the crown or enlarge his head. She never said which one had been done.

Most curiously, in Gwen’s mind, she never mentioned the Pendragon name either.

A riveting tale about a princess, a cursed necklace and a cow was just about reaching its climax when Merlin came through the doors, inquiring about eating preferences.

All raised their eyebrows at him.

Standing straight with his hands behind his back, and in his most neutral tone, Merlin said, “The king wants to go for a picnic.”

“May I ask what you were thinking?”

Arthur bit his lip, seeking to placate her anxiety with a hand on her shoulder. “You were the one said we should make them feel welcome.”

If she cared for him less, Arthur surmised, her words probably would have been much more biting as she said, “Yes, make them feel like it, not actually do it.”

“The best way to control what they might do is to keep them occupied. Besides, you’ve spent some time with them now, so tell me,” he prompted, “do you still think they mean harm?”

Guinevere sighed softly. “I don’t believe so,” she admitted.

Arthur tried not to be too smug about the fact that he had been right. He cocked his head, curious. “What do you think of them?”

She gave it some thought. “Gwenhwyfar – well, she’s got a temper – ” that, she certainly did – “but she’s honest. She’s a druid, too – ” huh – “and, uh, Guenevere is…of noble birth in every way.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Is that your way of saying arrogant?”

“Perhaps,” she allowed.

Arthur stifled a laugh, looking to the woman in question. “She’s not so bad.”

When he turned back to Guinevere, there was a little furrow in her brow. He frowned, too. “What?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “But honestly, Arthur…a picnic?”

“Well, that’s…one part of it.”

“What’s the other part?”

He pursed his lips. “Swordplay?”

She closed her eyes. “You want to see if you can best Gwenhwyfar is a fight, don’t you?”

Yes. “No… I mean – ” he gave her a cocky grin – “there’s really no question about it, of course I can best her in a fight.”

Guinevere didn’t look all that impressed. “You’re sure she’ll agree to it?”

“Trust me,” he said with confidence, “if she’s a warrior, she won’t turn it down. Besides, a friendly fight is the best way to endear yourself to a swords – ” he frowned – “woman.”

Under different circumstances, Guinevere might have laughed.

He rubbed her arms. “I’ll prove it. Watch.”

With a final squeeze of her shoulder, he left her to join Gwenhwyfar, where she stood putting her vest back on – how Merlin had washed and dried that so quickly, Arthur had no clue –, and strapping the sword to her back again.

“So,” he said, “Merlin tells me you haven’t requested a thing for yourself.”

Gwenhwyfar glanced to him, showing little other than indifference. And why did it bother him that she showed him no favor?

“Would you grant me a feast if I asked?”

“Certainly.”

She raised an eyebrow.

He’d thought about enticing her with the possibility of sampling foods from other worlds, like Guenevere had shown interest in – but then, that would probably have had the exact opposite effect here.

“I have very little interest in picnics,” Gwenhwyfar said.

He tried not to smirk. “Mm, yes, I thought so. Which is why I’ve arranged for some of my men to come with us. Perhaps a friendly match with the knights of Camelot might be more to your liking?”

Now, her eyes did spark with interest. Arthur almost turned to grin triumphantly at Guinevere.

Gwenhwyfar’s mouth curved like she might just smile, but then she looked torn.

“I know you must dislike the thought of partaking in anything from this world,” Arthur said, “but the way I see it, you had no hand in coming here. It wasn’t your fault that the, uh, balance of the worlds was upset. Anything you might do to enjoy yourself here is a well-deserved way to ease your troubles.”

She shook her head. “People like you always have a way to justify doing whatever they want.”

He frowned. “People like me?”

“Royals.”

Ah. “Don’t you serve a prince?”

She laughed now. “Oh, he is nothing like you.”

Arthur affected an air of nonchalance. “Didn’t think he was,” he said, and pretended no part of him was disappointed.

Oddly, it seemed to have finally gained him a smidge of favor. “What if someone sees us?” Gwenhwyfar asked, her voice gentler. “I can’t imagine you want people knowing we’re here.”

“Oh, well, uh…Sir Leon’s got a plan. No one will see you. Although – ” an image of them being seen flashed through his head – “I do hate to imagine what the people would think if they saw me with all three of you.”

Gwenhwyfar gave him an odd sort of look, a glint in her eyes. It took a moment to realize it was mischief. “That you were not satisfied with just one Guinevere, so you decided to marry three instead?”

“Yes! I mean, no! Of course – of course not.” He sighed, shaking his head. “There’s just…an old story.”

Gwenhwyfar laughed again, more freely this time. She sounded just like his Guinevere. “About the king who married three emissaries of the Goddess on Earth to have the right to rule?”

Stunned, Arthur nodded.

“Yes, we have such stories, too.”

Delicately, like approaching a sleeping bear, Arthur said, “I’m not sure they were goddesses.”

“Well, what were they?”

“Um…” He scratched his head. “I’m not sure… It’s been years since I’ve heard the story. I think, uh, there were three of the same woman, and somehow, to be the rightful king of the land, he had to find, then marry, and uh…bed, all three of them.”

Gwenhwyfar scoffed.

Favor lost, then.

“Makes it sound like nothing more than some knight’s quest,” she derided.

Well, when she put it that way… “What…is it like, then?”

“It’s not about conquest,” she said. There was that temper again. “It’s about earning the right to rule. The favor and the blessing of the Triple Goddess. The king couldn’t just take these women, he had to prove his worth to them.”

That did sound like the better story. “How?” Arthur asked quietly.

She didn’t answer right away, evidently deciding if she should oblige him or not. He hoped the beseeching look he gave her would help.

It probably wasn’t what swayed her in the end, but she did clear her throat, as if readying for a long tale. When she did tell it, her voice was soft, gentle, like that of a storyteller sitting around a campfire.

“In the old days,” she began, “when the lands were steeped in chaos and war, a king who could put an end to it was sought, in the hope that he would bring peace. To find him among all the contenders, the Goddess created three emissaries, all the same, to represent her will on Earth.

“The rightful king,” she said, a playfulness to her voice, “would have to prove himself to all three. To the Mother, he had to show his courage, his strength – his love for the land. To the Maiden – ” she smiled softly – “that he was true and pure of heart.

“To the Crone,” she intoned, and Arthur found himself smiling, too, “that he did not fear death, or the horrors of the other world – that was wise enough to know when to stop them and when to unleash them. And if he succeeded,” she concluded, smiling wider still, “he would marry them to seal their union, and be granted the divine right to rule.”

She had such a beautiful way of telling it. Befitting, he thought, of such a beautiful story.

“Later words retold,” she went on, “that in reality, it was only ever one woman. Who, by divine right, represented the land – its people. If the king could prove all these things to her – her, above all others – and win her heart, then…” Softer than before, she said, “He was the true king.”

Why was it, that he got the impression that later words still, had to retell yet a different tale? “You seem to know these stories very well,” he commented.

For the first time, she seemed to falter, and averted her gaze. Muttering, so he could barely hear her, she said, “My parents named me after the women in them.”

Arthur stifled a snort.

She looked back to him sharply. “My people believe that no name is given without meaning.” She sighed. “I was born in troubled times. Perhaps, in naming me so…they believed I could have a hand in changing that.”

He nodded. “And how are the times now?”

“Still troubled,” she said, shrugging. “But I have hope.”

Huh. Named after a woman who bestowed the divine right to rule, fighting a war with hope to – wait -  “That prince of yours,” Arthur prompted, biting his lip, “might he have something to do with it?”

“Um – ” she swallowed – “well, yes, I…I believe he is meant to be king, that he will, uh, bring us peace.”

“Aha, you believe it?”

And now she was flustered.

God, this was too delightful.

Arthur couldn’t quite keep himself from asking, “So, will you be sealing your union or…?”

“Wh – I, uh, no,” she stammered, “we’re not – it’s not like that, I’m not – we’re not getting – I mean – ” she blew out a breath, clearing her throat. “So – friendly match?”

Arthur took pity on her, nodding. She scurried away, sword and dagger and all.

He finally turned to Guinevere again, grinning widely. She smiled in return.

It wasn’t long before commotion by the doors drew his attention. The knights had come at last – and before them all was Guenevere, smiling sweetly as Leon, Gwaine and Percival tripped over themselves and each other to bow before her and kiss her hand, in a chorus of ‘my lady’s and ‘Your Highness’s.

Elyan stood away from them, frozen in the spot, with the most disturbed look on his face. Arthur couldn’t say he blamed him.

Gwenhwyfar came up to him, confidence evidently restored, asking, “Are these the men you’d have me fight?”

The knights jumped back as one, screaming.

Honestly.

“Yes,” Arthur said grandly. “You can fight this lot.”

Chapter Text

Gwenhwyfar stood above the men, lazily flicking her sword in victory.

Sprawled upon the ground, Gwaine and Leon looked up at her then at each other, awe and confusion on their faces. Percival had had the same look on his when she, so smaller than him, had managed to knock him into the dirt like a great falling tree.

She’d seemed to enjoy herself most with Elyan, though, sparring like it was not victory she sought but time spent with him, a smile on her face. Every now and again, a comment such as, ‘your footwork needs improvement’ or, ‘you swing your sword too widely when you strike’ would pass her lips.

Elyan had walked away from it probably better off than the rest of them, turning to Gwen with wide eyes, and she'd had to suppress a smile.

She bit back another one now, too, as Gwaine commented, “You fight better than the king.”

Naturally, Arthur scoffed. He hadn’t faced her yet, but he had watched the whole thing with rapt interest, both a curious spectator and one studying his opponent’s craft.

“All this means,” he was saying now, “is that you don’t fight as well as you think.”

As Gwaine and Leon picked themselves off the ground, Gwenhwyfar challenged, “Would you care to prove your superior skill?”

Arthur, of course, accepted eagerly, stepping up to the middle of the clearing – though not before he threw a glance and a grin over his shoulder, to make sure she was watching. Gwen smiled in return.

“My Arthur was the same when he met her.”

She turned to Guenevere, sitting at her side on the blankets, taking little bites of the fruit that Merlin had set out for them, on a plate adorned with flowers.

“Endlessly fascinated by the sight of her,” Guenevere went on, “the fact alone that she could swing a sword. Not to mention that she’s led armies and fought in battles.”

“Was the feeling mutual?” Gwen asked.

“Not in the slightest.”

Gwen laughed under her breath, and turned her attention back to the match. They both fought well, obviously, and that was about the extent to which she could comment on it. The finer points of their footwork, strikes, or defenses escaped her. It was the sword Gwenhwyfar wielded – beautiful, golden, shining in the sunlight – that she could appreciate.

When Gwenhwyfar had first drawn it from its scabbard, Merlin had dropped everything he was holding.

Gwen had asked to hold it herself, drawn to it as any blacksmith’s daughter would be. It was unlike any other she had ever seen, its balance and workmanship beyond anything she could imagine, marked with symbols she could not understand.

“What are they?” she had asked.

“Druidic runes,” Gwenhwyfar had said. “On one side, it says, 'take me up', and on the other – ” Gwen had turned it over in her hands – “cast me away.”

“What does it mean?”

“I believe, like with most things…its true meaning will be revealed only in hindsight.”

Gwen had nodded her understanding, smiling at the small, curious wisdom of it. “Who made this for you?”

“No one. It was forged in a dragon’s breath.”

She had quickly relinquished the blade after that.

Now it struck down upon Arthur’s in a glorious clash, and Gwen truly began to wonder if he would win this one. He seemed to be enjoying himself still, though.

She wished she could truly say the same for herself. Guenevere still unnerved her.

“I fear I might have indeed offended you earlier.”

Gwen turned to her again. “You didn’t,” she dismissed. “It’s alright.”

“You must believe,” Guenevere still added, “that if I asked, it was never because I thought your birth makes you unfit to be queen. If I ever did believe such things – ” she smiled faintly – “my husband has surely proved me wrong by now.”

Goblet halfway up to her mouth, Gwen froze. “Is he not King Uther’s son?”

Guenevere’s lips pressed together for a moment, at the mention of Uther’s name. “He is, but he never grew up at court,” she said. “He was raised by two peasants.”

Gwen choked on air, loudly. (Arthur spun to her at the sound of it, and Gwenhwyfar knocked him round the head.) “I find that hard to believe,” she said.

“Nevertheless, it is true.” Guenevere took a sip of her drink. “He never knew who his father was until Uther died. He might not even have known then, had Morgana wished to keep her right to the throne.”

Morgana Pendragon, forsaking the throne of Camelot? That could surely not be. “She didn’t want it for herself?”

Guenevere shook her head. “No. Morgana is, by all accounts, far more interested in her studies of magic than the throne of Camelot,” she said, though her phrasing made Gwen wonder. As did the memory of the Morgana she knew. “She sent for him, upon Uther’s death. And though the legitimacy of Arthur’s birth is complicated – ” Gwen wondered about those words, too – “he was entitled to the crown. And so he became king.”

“It must have been a terrible burden,” Gwen commented, “to assume the throne when he was never prepared for it.”

“It was.” Guenevere gave a quiet sigh. “The first night we were married, he told me he had no idea what he was doing, and only ever acted as his council asked.”

“Oh. Well…at least he’s honest.”

“A king must take great care who he’s honest with,” Guenevere countered.

Gwen nodded. “But surely his queen can be trusted,” she said softly.

Guenevere smiled, perhaps more sincerely than before. “I would never betray him.”

“You love him.” Gwen smiled, too.

“Yes,” Guenevere said. “Whatever anyone may have thought, he’s proved to be a great king. With a good heart.” She took on a pensive look. “I never knew how important it was to rule with one until I met him.”

Smiling still, Gwen turned to Arthur – her Arthur, ducking under Gwenhwyfar’s sword. He caught her eye and flashed her a quick grin, before ducking again.

“And Elyan?” Gwen asked. “Is he a good king?”

“The kingdom has not fallen yet.”

Gwen chuckled, then narrowed her eyes, studying Guenevere. There was something, in the way that she said it… “Is that thanks to you?”

It took a moment to receive an answer. “I am the council of two kings,” Guenevere allowed, and left it at that.

Such responsibility ought to keep a woman occupied.

And thinking of home.

“It must have been difficult,” Gwen said quietly, “to leave your home behind. I can’t even imagine.” She looked around the clearing and the trees, to the palace standing above them in the distance. “It would break my heart, to ever have to leave Camelot.” Shaking her head, she added, “I am sad to even leave my home in the lower town.”

Guenevere was silent for a while. “It is not easy,” she eventually agreed. “But every queen knows sacrifice.”

“I prefer not to think of it as sacrifice,” Gwen said, shrugging. “It’s only change.”

Guenevere let out a small, surprised chuckle. “That’s a brave way of thinking,” she said. “Simple and straightforward. I am learning from you after all.”

She smiled again, and Gwen did the same in return. Perhaps she and Guenevere had more in common than she’d thought.

But then she raised her cup in the air, barely once looking at Merlin as he ran to refill it. So perhaps not.

He came around to refill hers as well, and Gwen stiffened, her fingers almost itching to take the jug from his hands and do it herself. Merlin might have actually sensed it, too, because he poured at the oddest angle, from over her shoulder, where she couldn’t possibly reach around to grab it.

She thanked him kindly, then watched him go, fighting the tightness in her chest. It’s only change.

Everything stilled when the match finally drew to an end and Arthur knocked Gwenhwyfar off her feet, seemingly the winner.

But when she kicked his legs from under him, sending him down to join her in the dirt, they called it a draw.

Gwenhwyfar fought unlike anyone he’d ever known. And considering the men he surrounded himself with, that was saying something.

She had both strength and speed, and a sense of strategy in combat that rivaled his own. Yet she also had a grace, an elegance, to her, making it look more like a dance than combat, that reminded him of Guinevere.

She approached him now as he sipped on his refreshments, and Arthur eagerly held his hand out to her.

“You fought well,” she praised, slipping her fingers in his.

Arthur grinned. “Thank you,” he said. “Though, of course,” he felt compelled to add, “I let her knock me down, at the end. So as to not offend her.”

“Of course,” Guinevere agreed. Arthur held her hand up to his lips. He couldn’t wait to impress her even more at the tournament tomorrow.

There was a hint of surprise in her smile as he kissed her hand, until it grew as bright as the sun that beat down upon them.

He looked past her, to where the knights were now split between complimenting Gwenhwyfar and her sword – which, Arthur admitted, was magnificent – and fawning over Guenevere, while Merlin ran around them all with a pitcher and a plate, desperately trying and failing to serve everyone.

“Ah, a glimpse into your future,” Arthur commented.

Guinevere cast a quick glance over her shoulder then turned back to him, humor in her eyes. “I do not think anyone will be complimenting my skill with the sword anytime soon.”

Arthur laughed. “I meant the other part of it.”

Now when she looked over to the rest of them, her gaze lingered. Her voice was quiet when she said, “We’re very different.”

Arthur frowned. Were they…not looking at the same thing?

“Although – ” Guinevere looked to him again, the lightness in her voice restored – “we do have one thing in common.” She smiled. “You.”

He smiled, too.

“I think you’ll be pleased to know,” she went on, “that no matter the world, you are always a great king.”

He was, actually, smiling wider still. Guinevere returned it, eyes full of pride, until she pursed her lips and added, “Elyan, however, not so much, apparently.”

Arthur froze. “What do you mean Elyan?”

She nodded. “In her world, he is king.”

“I can’t imagine that.”

“Mm, I can’t either. And obviously – ” another glance over her shoulder – “neither can he.”

Arthur hadn’t heard what had been said, but Elyan had a horrorstruck look on his face and Percival was mockingly bowing before him with a flourish, so – yeah, she was probably right.

“Elyan as king,” Arthur said, shaking his head in wonder. “Seems impossible. It would be like me being a…peasant.”

Guinevere’s eyes lit up at that, in an entirely unsettling way.

Dare he ask? “What?”

“Well,” she drawled, “the way she tells it, you are a king there, but you were raised by – ”

“Can’t be…”

“Oh, yes,” she said with feeling, practically delighted. “Two peasants.”

That was the most inconceivable thing he had ever heard.

Alright – perhaps the second or third most inconceivable. Still – “I feel as though that would make me an entirely different person.”

Guinevere hummed lightly, as if in agreement, though she said nothing beyond it.

Arthur wondered about the little pinch at the corner of her mouth for a moment, then decided the best way to go about erasing it was to simply smooth it over with his own lips. He balanced his goblet on the weapons rack next to them, now free to pull Guinevere closer.

Her eyes already brightened as he leaned in.

“Get down!”

Leon’s scream made him grab Guinevere and duck on instinct. The arrow sailed over his head, knocking over the goblet.

For the briefest moment, everything was still. Then he moved, pulling Guinevere with him as he ran, yelling for the rest to follow them to the trees.

The thick tree line was a blessing, providing cover, and Arthur hastily counted them all, each propped against a different trunk. “Is everyone alright?”

Even as they all nodded and muttered they were, he turned around to Guinevere, pressed to his back, still holding onto his hand. Wide-eyed and out of breath, she still gave him a quick nod of reassurance.

He breathed a little easier, though he still cursed what had to be his bad luck. Why couldn’t anything ever go on without someone trying to kill him?

“Where was it fired from?” Gwaine asked.

It was Gwenhwyfar who answered, peering between the trunks, eyes following a path from where the arrow was stuck fast in the ground to the trees on the other side of the clearing. “There,” she said, chin jutting out as she nodded. Arthur knew exactly what spot she spoke of.

“Is there more than one?” Percival prompted next, and though Arthur twisted his neck and squinted through the cracks their shelter allowed, he couldn’t even see their one attacker among the leaves, much less if he had companions.

“I can’t say,” he told Percival – and his eyes were drawn to Guenevere, securely lodged between his tall back and Elyan behind her. “I’m sorry you were put in peril, my lady,” he said.

“Oh, no, I – ” she shook her head a little, as if dismissing it – “love danger.”

Merlin and the knights snickered, and behind him, so did Guinevere. Arthur turned to her again, rubbing his thumb into her palm. This would trouble him less if she hadn’t been standing right next to him.

“There is only one,” Gwenhwyfar declared.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “How can you be sure?”

“A single arrow was fired,” she said. “If there were more than just that one of them, you probably would not have escaped with your life.” She did make a good point. “Whoever they are, we must lure them out,” she said next.

He agreed. “Any suggestions?”

She looked over to him, lifting her eyebrows.

“You want me to run out there and draw him out?” Arthur deadpanned.

She shrugged, like it was the simplest thing. The knights, of course, reeled in protest – and he knew that Guinevere was surely in frowning in silent disapproval behind him, too.

But then Merlin said, “You should do it.”

The knights spun to him like he was mad. Arthur blinked. Gwenhwyfar ducked her head to hide a smile.

“I’m just saying,” Merlin added, “if he’s after you, he’s probably not going to settle for anyone of us.”

Yes, that – was another good point. It was the nonchalance he was making it with that was just a bit – unsettling. Sometimes, he just did not understand Merlin.

A throat being cleared drew his attention. “Might I make a suggestion?” Guenevere asked, though her eyes were on Guinevere before they settled on him.

Arthur gestured for her to go on. “Please.”

“If you go out there alone, my lord, he will surely know it’s a trap,” Guenevere said. “If we all run together, however, we might have a chance at tricking him.”

How did Guinevere not see how alike they were?

“I am reluctant to put you in any more danger than I already have,” Arthur still hesitated, biting his lip.

She dismissed the concern with a vague shrug. “I’ll just…stay behind Sir Percival.”

“There truly are no limits to your bravery,” Gwenhwyfar commented.

“At least I think before I act.”

“Alright,” Arthur interrupted. Really, this was not the time for another one of their – conversations. “We will all run, and…hopefully that will lure him out.” Yes, that was a good plan.

Putting it in motion wasn’t difficult – though Gwenhwyfar laughed when he loudly shouted for them to run for the horses (“You’re a terrible liar,” she said, running past him) – nor was it as nerve-racking as he’d thought, as soon as he made sure Guinevere was safely blocked by Sir Leon.

He counted three more arrows being fired, all missing him by a wide berth. Whoever was trying to kill him was obviously not very good at it.

Just when he thought they were far enough that he’d have to give chase, there was a loud yelp and a mighty thud, as the man apparently crashed down from his spot in the trees.

Arthur could hardly believe both their fortune and the man’s incompetence.

Gwenhwyfar was the first to run to where he’d fallen – though not before she quickly grinned at Merlin, at the rear of their party, for reasons that Arthur could not comprehend –, followed by Gwaine and Leon. Arthur joined them quickly.

The would-be killer was sprawled lifeless upon the ground, his neck broken, and a heap of gold coins spread around him like a twisted sort of halo.

Gwenhwyfar picked one off the ground, flipping it in her hand. “It seems you had an assassin in Camelot, Your Highness.”

Merlin stood in Arthur’s chambers, waiting for either Arthur to come back or for Guenevere to raise her goblet for a refill again. If he had to guess, the latter would happen first.

She’d requested, among other things: a bath, a change of dress, Camelot’s finest wine, and – with the sort of politeness that ladies used when they were displeased – that the king limit any other ‘fun’ activities he might have in mind for them until they were gone.

Merlin thought it a big change from how she’d acted at the picnic. But maybe that was just her way of coping.

Gwen sat opposite her, glancing with increasing frequency to the door.

'When will your king return?'

It was such a strange thing, to have Gwen’s voice in his head, calling him Emrys.

But he needed only look to the side to remember that it was another one entirely, where she leaned against the cupboard, quietly tapping her foot.

It had come in handy, of course, back at the clearing, to form a silent plan. Though it had been a good job that everyone had been too occupied with thoughts of assassinations to pay him any mind, because he had nearly bowled over in shock, when she’d first spoken directly into his mind, saying, 'Use your magic.'

'He shan’t be long now.'

Gwenhwyfar crossed her arms. 'You said that nearly an hour ago.'

So he had. 'These things run long.'

Though she didn’t move an inch, her sigh echoed in his head.

'I know you’re eager to leave,' he said. He didn’t believe her restlessness had to do with Arthur’s absence for a moment.

'I have many responsibilities. Instead I am forced to waste time here.' She looked him square in the eye. 'Thanks for that.'

He withheld a wince, and really wished she hadn’t figured that one out. 'Sorry.'

'Hmm.'

'But I’m sure you’ll be home soon,' he offered, glancing at Guenevere. 'Her husband will come for her any moment now.'

'Her husband can’t find his own backside, much less this place.'

Merlin choked, then covered it quickly with a cough. Then frowned. 'The way she talks about him, you’d think he was formidable.'

Gwenhwyfar rolled her eyes. 'Who can tell what she actually thinks of anything?'

He…couldn’t really disagree with that. Of course, the same could never be said of Gwenhwyfar, whose every opinion was always right at the tip of her tongue. He really had to figure out what exactly he’d put in that spell, because neither of them were a true reflection of Gwen. Aside from the fact that they had the same face.

Well – even that was untrue. He turned to Gwenhwyfar again, biting his lip in curiosity. The serpent on her face needed no explanation, but – 'How did you get your scar?'

She took a moment to answer. 'Defending my prince,' she eventually said, a secretive sort of smile at the corner of her mouth.

He really had to find out who this prince was. 'You know,' he commented, 'you talk about him the same way Guenevere talks about her king, so – I mean, is yours truly formidable or can’t he actually find his own backside either?'

She reeled at that, chin jutting out while she rattled off praises of her prince right into his head, big words of justice and fairness and freedom and whatnot. Which was probably how he sounded to people when he talked about Arthur.

In that moment, she truly reminded him of Gwen, too – his Gwen, poor thing, looking towards the doors again.

Maybe she’d conjured Arthur with the power of her thought alone, because he came through not a moment later, Leon in tow.

Gwen was out of her seat in an instant, taking Arthur’s hand in hers and bringing it to her heart. As tired as he seemed, it brought a smile to his face. Merlin didn’t know if he was more incensed that someone had tried to kill him, or that they had put another wrench in their wedding celebrations.

Not that he wasn’t responsible for the first.

And off the top his head, he suspected Morgana for the second. Though one would think she’d be less obvious and clumsy about it.

Which was probably what Arthur thought, too, because he sat down, Gwen at his side, and declared it had to have been Odin.

“King Odin?” Guenevere inquired, like it came as a surprise.

Arthur nodded.

“You have a quarrel with him?”

“Yes,” Arthur said soberly, and didn’t offer a single word beyond that. Guenevere didn’t press the matter either.

Leon looked to Arthur for approval before saying, “Odin has made attempts on the king’s life twice before. The second time…only recently.”

Merlin looked down to his shoes.

“You believe he finally tried to finish the job?” Gwenhwyfar asked, blunt as ever.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said. “Sending assassins after me is…what he does.”

Gwen squeezed his hand atop the table, her expression troubled. Arthur turned to her, a frown etched on his brow, too. Considering the last assassin had mortally wounded his father instead of him, he really couldn’t be taking it well that it could have just as easily been Gwen this time.

Merlin tore his gaze away from them – and caught a glimpse of Gwenhwyfar and Guenevere’s eyes meeting. Now what was that about?

“Would he really be so bold,” Gwenhwyfar spoke, “as to make another attempt so soon?”

“Like you said – ” Arthur shrugged – “he’s trying to finish the job.”

Gwenhwyfar said nothing further, but her eyes narrowed when no one else was looking, her lips pressed together in thought – an expression Merlin had seen many times on Gwen’s own face.

'You think there’s more to this?'

'I don’t know,' she said. 'But something’s not right.'

Finally.

Guenevere and Gwenhwyfar were smuggled off to a set of guest chambers each, Leon had rejoined the knights for patrol, Merlin was off to fetch dinner, and finally, it was just him and Guinevere.

Arthur reached for her not a moment after the door shut behind Merlin, pulling her to him. He kissed her eagerly, sighing against her mouth. He’d been waiting to do that all day.

When they parted, he lingered with his forehead pressed to hers, running his hands down her back. In the meeting, while his uncle accused Odin with certainty and his council agreed, he’d had the worst image cross his mind, of holding Guinevere like he had his father, her blood staining his hands.

She rubbed his shoulders, a hand coming up to play with the ends of his hair. Though she smiled at him, her eyes still betrayed her.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I’ve doubled the guard, and the entire city’s been searched. The assassin acted alone.”

Even as she nodded, her eyes narrowed and her mouth pinched. He knew that look.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.” She sighed. “There’s much about this that troubles me still.”

He brought his hands around to her waist, running a finger along the edge of the silver chain there. “Like what?”

Her mouth worked wordlessly, as if she struggled to even find a place to start. In the end, she began with, “Would Odin really dare attempt anything again so soon? Gwenhwyfar was right to ask. Is it not too bold, even for him?”

“I think once you’ve started sending assassins after princes and kings, you’ve pretty much thrown caution to the wind already.”

She frowned.

He let out a soft sigh. “Maybe he’s become so desperate,” he said, quietly, “to see me dead that it’s made him reckless.”

“Alright,” she conceded, though she seemed reluctant to do so, “but then, why send someone so…incompetent?”

“We should just be glad he was, I think,” Arthur muttered.

“No one is more grateful for it than I,” she said, placing a hand over his heart, “but it does make me wonder. He was paid so handsomely, and…well, the two he sent before were much more…capable.”

There was apology in her voice even as she spoke the words, like she hated having to say it.

“Like I said – ” he held her a little tighter – “he’s desperate. Perhaps he hired the first one he could find.”

She didn’t seem all that convinced. “Can I ask…what made you suspect Odin first?”

Well, Agravaine had been the first to make a pretty strong case for it. “The gold the assassin was paid with bears the mark of Odin’s treasury.”

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

“Perhaps not,” he said. “But you have to admit it makes for a lot of coincidences, all at once.”

Guinevere pursed her lips, but dipped her chin in agreement nonetheless. “You’re right,” she said. “I suppose – ” she blew out a breath – “the strangeness of his choice doesn’t matter, only that he didn’t succeed.”

Arthur smiled. He admired her strength at times like these.

He slipped his arm around her again, using the other to take her hand in his. “I am sorry,” he said, “that all of this has happened when we are meant to be celebrating our wedding.”

“It has been a trying day,” she agreed – emphatically.

He had to chuckle at that one. Between her doubles and the assassin – “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Hmm.”

“The important thing is, it’s almost over.” (Though he did wonder what else might go wrong before the end of it.) “And we have more pleasant things to expect, like – ” he pulled her closer to him still – “the fact that the tournament in honor of our engagement begins tomorrow.”

“I do look forward to it,” she said brightly, smiling.

Arthur grinned, and kissed her again.

“The assassin failed, my lady,” Agravaine said. “Guinevere lives.”

Morgana turned away from him, lip curling.

“Arthur suspects nothing,” Agravaine went on. “He believes it was Odin who sent the assassin after him. As we had planned.”

“We planned for Gwen to drown in her own blood,” Morgana hissed.

Time and time again, she escaped her fate – never burned, never froze, never bled until there was no life left in her. Why would she just not die?

“Arthur has doubled the guard, knights patrol the city without rest. There will not be another opportunity to – ”

Morgana slammed her hand down upon the table. “I will not see that woman upon my throne!” she cried out in anger.

“I don’t see how we can stop her anymore.”

 She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth. Then it struck her. The perfect solution.

“There is one who could come between them,” she said, the triumph of it bringing a smile to her face. She turned back to Agravaine. “Who would hate the thought of her in my crown as much as I do.”

Her words were met with a deep frown, until Agravaine’s face slowly cleared in understanding. “You don’t mean – ”

“Yes.”

At dawn, she made the journey to the Great Stones of Nemeton, tall and mighty against the grey skies.

Carrying the Horn of Cathbhadh – a cherished gift from her sister –, she made her way to where the circle began, filling her lungs with a deep breath before she blew on it.

Agravaine had tried to dissuade her, even, in the end, trying to make foolish promises that he would finish the job himself. It was just like him, just like a man, to never see beyond his own feelings. Sometimes, to achieve their goals, alliances had to be made with those they despised.

All of Arthur’s guards and knights would not save his beloved Guinevere now.

The lights of the spirit world blinded her as she entered then slowly faded, to reveal his lone figure, white and ghostly, yet unlike the pitiful man Agravaine had once described him as, devoid of mind and spirit.

She smirked. “I need your help, Father.”

Chapter Text

How two days of sweaty men knocking the sense out of each other were an appropriate engagement present for your betrothed, Merlin would never understand.

But Gwen smiled at each of the knights as they lined up on the grounds before her, bowing atop their horses – so maybe she didn’t mind so much. Or maybe she was just happy to be free of Guenevere and Gwenhwyfar for a while.

There was no doubt what Arthur was happy about, though, grinning as he held his lance up to the royal lodge, so Guinevere could retrieve the hoop from the tip of it. Merlin had personally had to adorn each one of those with tiny little pink ribbons – which had inevitably given him nightmares wherein he was being chased around by giant scraps of cloth.

But at least Arthur was happy.

Merlin was shaking his head at him before he even dismounted by the tents, as Gwaine took to the field.

“I’ve got to hand it to you, if nothing is certainly an original engagement present,” Merlin said. “Whatever happened to flowers and a nice song?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, taking the goblet from his hand and replacing it with the reins of his horse. “It’s tradition,” he said, gesturing around. “My father had a tournament before his wedding.”

“Oh, so it’s not even an original present, then.”

“I think my future wife understands,” Arthur said pointedly, raising the goblet in her direction – where she was thanking and smiling down on Gwaine, making him grin.

Merlin couldn’t help but be swept by it, too. Assassins and otherworldly visitors aside, Camelot had a lot to celebrate. (He did worry about the otherworldly visitors a bit, though. Locks and keys may hold Guenevere, but he wasn’t so sure about Gwenhwyfar.)

“Tell me the point of the hoops and the lances again?”

Arthur sighed.

“I’m just saying, I spent my night arranging those things. I’d like to know what it was all for,” Merlin said, watching Sir Ranulf take position.

“Retrieving the hoop grants you a place in the jousting later.”

“Doesn’t just being a knight grant you that?”

“You have to earn it.”

“Doesn’t all the hell you put them through earn them at least this?”

“Of course you wouldn’t understand that – ”

Arthur fell suddenly silent, jaw going slack.

Ranulf had missed.

A hush fell over the crowd. Ranulf stared at his lance then at the hoop, uncomprehending. Gwen looked uncomfortable.

And thus began the string of failure.

Five knights tried and five knights failed, and by the end of it, Arthur was grabbing at his hair.

“What are they doing?”

“Umm…” Merlin scratched his head. “Maybe they’re having a bad day?”

“They can’t have a bad day!” Arthur cried. “This is – that – they’re meant to be proving themselves to their future queen! Impressing her with the strength of Camelot’s army!” He whirled on Merlin – like he would have the answers here. “How is this going to show her that she can rely on their protection?”

Merlin blinked. How was shoving lances through hoops going to show her that in the first place?

And while Uther certainly would have, once upon a time, needed to impress such things upon Queen Ygraine – “Right, but – well, I mean…Gwen’s spent her whole life in Camelot, she already knows all of them and how good they are,” he said – a statement somewhat undermined by the fact that Sir Lamorak came, went and failed, too.

The crowd started booing.

Arthur whined. “At this rate I’ll be fighting myself!”

(Sir Kay readied, looking heavenward in silent prayer.)

“Well, look on the bright side – at least then you’ll be sure to win,” Merlin said. Arthur spun to him like he was mad.

“How is me winning by default going to impress Guinevere?”

“Oh, so it’s about you impressing Gwen?”

Arthur threw his arms up in the air. “Yes!”

“Mm.” Merlin nodded.

(Sir Kay, inevitably, missed.)

“But it’s like I said, Arthur, she’s seen you joust and fight plenty of times, too, I mean – now, if you really wanted to impress her, you should try cooking a chicken again.”

Arthur’s glare was murderous. “I’ll cook you.”

Really now.

Sir Leon came to the field, looking a little green.

Arthur looked like he might actually get sick.

“I can’t watch this,” he said, and promptly turned away, burying his face in his hands.

Merlin sighed.

Well, then. Saving Camelot and the dignity of Arthur’s men it was, one magic trick at a time.

Leon charged, and Merlin swayed the hoop right in his lance’s path.

The people erupted in deafening cheers.

Arthur’s head came up at the sound of it. “Oh, thank God,” he let out, doubling over in relief.

The sentiment was entirely echoed in Gwen’s hearty, vehement, ‘thank you,’ to Leon when he presented her with the offering.

One of these days, Merlin thought, they would truly come to appreciate everything he did for them.

“We must act now while they’re occupied.”

Guenevere withheld a sigh.

She had gotten no rest, not a moment of peace, since the minute she had been shown to her quarters. Gwenhwyfar had come in the night, scaring her half to death – if she was a terror in the light of day, the night made her a creature of the netherworld –, and going on and on and on about returning to their worlds.

Now standing over Guenevere's shoulder, in these chambers the king had confined her to, Gwenhwyfar went on about it some more. “Their Emrys will reverse his magic.”

“If he knew how to undo what he has done, I think he would’ve done it by now,” Guenevere said. “Besides, you can’t really trust the man who has brought us here by accident to return you home safely, can you?”

“Well, that’s why we have you, don’t we? Did I not once hear your husband brag that you have an entire library dedicated to travelling between worlds on the seas of Meredor?”

“Oh, now you’re eager for my knowledge?”

She was greeted to Gwenhwyfar’s widest, most insincere smile. “Please.”

Guenevere wrenched her head away, and stared on straight ahead.

Gwenhwyfar pushed herself away from the table, muttering, “You’re such a child.”

“I’m the child?” Guenevere let out, unable to contain it. “You’re the one who can’t sit still for a second!”

“I have responsibilities!”

“Do you think that I don’t?”

“Don’t pretend they are the same as mine.”

Guenevere bit her tongue against a retort. “I know what position you’re in,” she said instead. “I know what you worry your people will think of your disappearance.”

Gwenhwyfar’s proud, angry chest deflated at it. A little sympathy, Guenevere had found, went a long way.

“But you should have more faith in them,” she advised. “Even if they do suspect the quee – Morgaine, first, they must soon realize that she did not take you. You’re bound to your prince, aren’t you? He will sense it.”

“He will sense that I am gone from the world,” Gwenhwyfar said quietly.

Guenevere sighed. “It is a terrible thing,” she agreed. “But he will see you again soon.”

“Not,” Gwenhwyfar said, flaring again, “if you won’t help me get out of here.”

Sympathy between them never did last long.

“Must you be so difficult?” Guenevere said. “My Arthur will come for us.”

“Really?” Gwenhwyfar demanded. “Yesterday, you said it would take him no more than a day.” She spread her arms out. “The day’s come and gone, and he’s still nowhere to be found.”

Guenevere swallowed, squaring her shoulders. “He will come.”

“Oh, the man rescues you from a dungeon once – ”

“It was a tower!”

Gwenhwyfar huffed.

Gripping the armrests where Gwenhwyfar couldn’t see, Guenevere said, “I am as eager to leave this place as you are.”

“Well, for a woman eager to leave, you certainly seem to be enjoying yourself here.”

Guenevere nearly laughed. “What’s not to enjoy? Magic is outlawed, assassins roam the city, and our only saving grace is that we bear the likeness of the king’s beloved.”

Gwenhwyfar pursed her lips. “Yes, that last bit was fortunate,” she said, like it pained her to admit it.

“Unwise of any king to be so weakened by it, but yes – fortunate.”

“You say that like your Arthur isn’t taken by every version of you he finds.”

“And you say that like you’re immune to it,” Guenevere said. “I saw the way you were with Elyan.”

It was cruel, perhaps, to even bring it up. Gwenhwyfar looked away, lips pressed tightly together.

“We have got to get out of here.”

“We will,” Guenevere said. “But we must be patient.”

“I am out of patience!” Gwenhwyfar said – proving it rather strongly by raising her voice. “All we need is one spell!” She planted her hands on the table. “With our knowledge and Emrys’s power, we could be gone before dusk.”

“By which time Arthur will have surely come as well,” Guenevere remained firm.

“Oh, for heaven’s – ” Gwenhwyfar turned away, pulling at her hair.

The moments ticked by, filled with only her ragged breathing, quick then slower, and slower still, until it evened out.

“I am not trying to be difficult,” she eventually said, a thickness to her voice. “It’s just this place – ” she looked around, to the stones and the windows, almost as if the sight alone chilled her – “these people, this world…” She shook her head. “Something brews here, and I, for one, do not care to find myself in the middle of it.”

For once, they felt the same way.

But her convictions remained – and even Gwenhwyfar, with all of her passions and impulses, was not devoid of sense.

So Guenevere tried to reason with her instead, saying, “Even if we do try to break free on our own, do you not see what challenges we face? Merlin clearly has no idea how to wield this sort of magic. And even if we were to instruct him, you assume we would know – that I would know, how to do so with the elements of this world.”

It pained her to show this weakness, but it was necessary. “Look around. How many plants of this world can you even name?”

And they were plentiful. In these chambers alone, flowers brimmed on every corner, every surface. With all this trouble, one could nearly forget that this was a time of celebration for the people here.

Guenevere almost felt sorry for them.

“Like this – ” She gestured to the vase upon the table and its assortment of little blooms, purple and pale, all stacked neatly on their stems.

Gwenhwyfar frowned. “Yes, what is that?”

“I have no idea.”

“You, the great world traveler?”

Guenevere ignored that. “So you see my point,” she said. “Your plan is flawed. I may know a devil’s tear is needed to open the path to another world, but I could never guess its match here.”

She almost rejoiced when finally, a look of defeat settled on Gwenhwyfar’s face, the corners of her mouth turning down with it.

But then of course, they turned right back up.

“We could find out,” she said.

Gods, why could she never just – “How do you hope to do that?”

“Well, they’ve got to have a library somewhere around here too, don’t they?” She waved a hand about. “Books of knowledge on the living things of this world?”

“While I agree that even the most backwards of people would hold encyclopedias,” Guenevere said, “how do you suppose that will help us?”

Gwenhwyfar raised an eyebrow. “Come now, I’m not a fool,” she said, bracing against the table again. “I know you think of these things as a science. Surely, if you know the properties of the ingredients we need, you can find their match here.”

Guenevere really wished they weren’t so evenly matched. She held out hope one last time. “We cannot be seen.”

Gwenhwyfar looked her up and down. “You can easily pass for the Guinevere of this world. No one will suspect anything.”

Of course that would be her plan. Just run headlong into danger and keep your fingers crossed.

“Even if I agreed to your way of doing things,” Guenevere said, “I’d really rather not risk being mistaken for her and end up with an arrow through my chest.”

Gwenhwyfar stilled. Then, she cocked her head, curiosity in her eyes. “You think she was the target?”

“You can’t tell me you believe the attack yesterday was all that it seemed?”

“Of course not,” Gwenhwyfar said. “But I only thought someone had chosen this Odin to take the fall for their plans.” She rolled her eyes. “No king would ever be this obvious about trying to kill someone.”

“No,” Guenevere said, “and neither would any assassin choose to strike when he did when he had ample opportunity before.”

“He wasn’t very good at his job.”

Guenevere raised an eyebrow. “I have no doubt his incompetence was entirely of Merlin’s making.”

Gwenhwyfar smiled and ducked her head.

“In any case, the fact remains,” Guenevere said, “that if the king was his target, the perfect time to strike would have been when he stood alone and everyone else was occupied. But the assassin waited until she was with him to fire.”

“Hmm.” Gwenhwyfar seemed to consider that. “Yes, but – I mean, really? Her? She seems too mild to have ever made an enemy in her life.”

“I suspect she is far stronger than she appears.” Guenevere said. Brave, she thought. “And besides, she is about to become queen. It’s not an undesirable position.”

Gwenhwyfar looked away. “Quite,” she agreed, so very quietly.

Guenevere decided not to get in the middle of that. Not now.

“The simple truth of it is,” she said, “that girl is a target for someone very cunning, and very bold, and I will not risk my neck by impersonating her – for nothing.”

She met Gwenhwyfar’s eyes with finality, only to find her looking back with something akin to reproach.

“If this is true, her life is in grave danger and no one knows it,” she said. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Now that,” Guenevere said pointedly, “would be getting in the middle of it, wouldn’t it?”

Gwenhwyfar pursed her lips, but seemed to let it go.

Until she slowly smirked, an entirely unsettling light in her eye. “Say it is true that she is in danger and that whoever wants her dead is not finished yet,” she said, “do you know who most certainly will want to get in the middle of it if he comes?”

Guenevere froze.

What was this backwards world, where the likes of Merlin had to grovel and hide as servants, Arthur shunned magic rather than embraced it, Morgana was nowhere to be found, and Gwenhwyfar was the wiser one of them?

“Right, so, we need to get to the library – ”

She barely had one foot inside the tent before Arthur was already apologizing.

“You must believe they’re not usually like this.”

“I know,” Gwen assured, smiling.

She had worried, for a moment there, that their performance had been the reflection of their true feelings on her becoming queen – an unreasonable thought, of course –, but their improvement later on (and their adamant apologies on her way here) had put such things to rest.

Arthur gave a soft sigh. “Good,” he said, but still frowned. “Still, I can’t imagine what got into them…” He perked up the next moment though. “It must the pressure of entertaining their future queen.”

“It must be,” Gwen agreed.

He came closer, holding his hands out to her. She kept hers behind her back.

His eyes narrowed as he tried to peek down over shoulder but she leaned away, bowing backwards. His gaze promptly fell to her mouth. He smiled, too, slow and crooked. “What have you got there?”

She lingered in the moment a while longer, before pulling out her token. “I thought you might wear it in the match later,” she said, twisting the fabric around her fingers. “You know – for luck.”

Arthur chuckled, delighted. “Thank you,” he said, taking hold of it with care. His smile never leaving him, he commented, “This brings back memories.”

“Yes,” she agreed, and never once mentioned it was precisely the reason she thought he needed luck.

He wrapped the token around his hand, both now free to go to her waist. “You know, I seem to remember,” he said, “another thing that happened last time you gave me a token such as this one.”

She feigned confusion. “I can’t imagine what you’re referring to.”

He looked like he might laugh but sobered quickly. “Would you like me to remind you?” he asked, very seriously.

She said nothing, only tipped her head up for a kiss. Arthur obliged, pressing his lips to hers just as sweetly as he had that day.

Still running his hands up and down her back, he asked, “Have lunch with me later?”

“Of course,” she accepted immediately, and got a wider smile still out of him. “Although,” she added, “we must see Geoffrey first, after the match. He wants both of us.”

“Why?”

“To go over the ceremony.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “That seems like a waste of time.”

She fiddled with his chainmail. “I think it’s mostly for my benefit.”

He said nothing for a moment.

“Sometimes I forget…that you weren’t taught these things the way that I was.”

It wasn’t the only thing she hadn’t been taught, either.

“I’ve known how to say my vows since I was a boy.” He touched a finger to her cheek, a smile at the corner of his mouth. “But let’s see, how do they go again? Ah, yes – ”

He stepped back, making a show of taking her hands in his and holding them up between their bodies. “I shall not seek to change thee in any way – ”

She laughed. “Arthur…”

“I shall respect thee as I respect myself – ”

“You don’t have to say them now,” she said – and yet she was grinning.

He was grinning, too, a silly sort of quirk to it. “I’ve known how to crown my queen since I was a boy, too,” he added. “I promise not to stutter.”

She ducked her head, shaking with silent laughter.

His fingers came up to trace the edges of her smile. “Long live the queen.” 

It straightened her spine at once, as if the words alone had made the crown settle down upon her head. She looked into Arthur’s eyes, so full of love and faith, soothing her like a lullaby. And yet her mind wandered.

To Guenevere, the perfect queen, with the breeding and the know-how to go with it. Then to Gwenhwyfar, the perfect warrior, with battle, and swordplay, and strategy in her blood - like Arthur had them in his. He was drawn to both them for all those things they were. All the things Gwen was not.  

“Not queen quite yet,” she whispered.

“Two days,” Arthur grumbled under his breath, as if ready to wage war on time itself for going so slowly, and leaned forward to kiss her again, pressing his lips to hers with purpose this time.

Her mind wandered again, from being his queen to being his wife, and her heart beat fast for thinking of the future, so near now, where they would not have to part. She could have so much more from him than just kisses. 

And then it wasn’t just her heart making noise.

Arthur pulled away from her with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow, cocking his head at the weapons rack that had toppled over without warning.

He turned back to face her, pursing his lips. “Is it just me, or are things in Camelot even stranger than usual these days?”

“I will say this: she has impeccable taste.”

Gwenhwyfar turned to her, then the closet, then back to her again. “If you say so, Your Highness.”

“Truly, look at these,” Guenevere insisted, reaching for the bright, colorful dresses in the back – why Guinevere had chosen to keep them behind all the other, plainer ones, she had no idea.

Then again, she also had no idea how she had found herself raiding the closet of the royal chambers so she could impersonate a serving girl yet to be queen, so…

Gwenhwyfar stepped closer, hand out to brush the hem of the blue one. “It is beautiful,” she agreed, quietly, a faraway look in her eyes. She said nothing else for a while, until she asked, “Should we really not say anything about her life being in danger?”

“What happens in this world is not our concern,” Guenevere said.

“Right.”

She cocked her head. “Have you grown fond of her?”

“No,” Gwenhwyfar said, fingers still delicately touching the dress. “But I find myself strangely preoccupied with it.” Her hand fell away. “Like it’s somehow my duty to protect her.”

“Perhaps that’s just your nature.”

“Perhaps.” She sighed. “And perhaps you’re right, when you only treat the people of other worlds as strangers and curiosities. Letting them remind you of those you know…makes you think too much.”

“Elyan?”

“It’s not just Elyan.” And yet her breath still caught on the name. “I tried not to care, but the longer I am here, the weaker I am to it. I look at Emrys – Merlin, and Gaius and Gwaine and the others, and I see mine. Perhaps Arthur, too, in a way. I wonder about Lancelot – Morgaine, even. And Guinevere…”

She looked around the chambers then – the weapons and the ornaments, the flowers and the dresses; the little bottles by the vanity –, before she met Guenevere's eyes again.

“I look at her and I wonder about myself,” she said, swallowing. “Could I do it?”

What a thing to hear her say.

Twice before they had met, and both times Guenevere had known her to be only one way. Honest and stubborn, always so loud and outspoken – and yet on this one matter, she was quiet, and shy, and held her tongue. When she spoke of the future, it was only of what her prince would become, never of her place in it. But to hear her even wonder about it now…

Guenevere couldn’t help but smile.

But of course, Gwenhwyfar shook her head the next moment, like she was being ridiculous. “Forget I said that.”

“As you wish.”

“Here – ” She thrust the first dress at hand towards her. “Put this on, and – ” she gestured vaguely to her head – “get rid of those.”

Guenevere covered her gems on instinct. “I shan’t!”

“She doesn’t wear them,” Gwenhwyfar said, like she was speaking to a dim child.

“Fine,” Guenevere bit out, pulling them out and forcing herself to drop them into Gwenhwyfar’s awaiting hand. “Be careful with them!”

Naturally, Gwenhwyfar turned them over this way and that with any care whatsoever. Then she frowned, her mouth dropping open. “Are these from my world?”

Guenevere pressed her lips together. “Perhaps.”

“Did you steal these?”

“No! Arthur bought them for me!”

Gwenhwyfar seemed unimpressed. “How sweet.”

“Yes, well, not every man can mark himself in your image to show his love.”

Gwenhwyfar’s hand rose to touch her marking and fell back down just as quickly. “How do you even know that’s how we’re bound?”

“Your Emrys is chatty.”

“Of course he is,” she grumbled.

“In all fairness, Arthur had gotten him drunk.”

Gwenhwyfar looked like she might be entertaining thoughts of murder. “Just get dressed.”

“Alright.”

Her nerves got to her once set through the palace, though, and she almost wished for Gwenhwyfar’s presence at her side.

It didn’t help that everything in this place seemed loose, or unlocked, or badly held. Wind blew windows open down every other corridor, nearly making her heart fail again and again. Twice, nails gave out and shields nearly fell from the walls and onto her head, and once, a clumsy maid tangled her in a basket of spilled linens, nearly choking her to death with dirty sheets.

This place was cursed.

Or Guinevere was, probably.

Cursed was her own mind too, most likely, for it kept conjuring Gwenhwyfar’s image, brow furrowed in disapproval.

Guinevere’s life was a matter for the fates of this world, not hers. And yet…

The flash of a black cloak caught her eye, disappearing down a corridor, and Guenevere blamed Gwenhwyfar for making her reckless even as she changed course to follow it.

Lord Agravaine walked down the hallway, his boots beating quickly upon the stones.

Unlike Arthur, unlike herself, he was never just one thing. From world to world, like Morgana, he was either friend of foe, ally or enemy to his kin, loyal or treacherous. The one she called family out of courtesy, that Ygraine spoke so lovingly of, was the former. But what to make of this one?

“My lord,” she called.

He stopped dead, turning to her with a look in his eyes she could never hope to place.

“Guinevere.”

Even with the sun beating down through the window behind her, she felt cold. “Are you leaving?”

“There’s some urgent business I must attend to outside the city.”

“But you’ll miss the tournament,” she said.

“Unfortunately.”

The window at her back blew open, too, making her jump. She spun around to it, the cold growing icy.

She thought of Gwenhwyfar again. Something brews here.

Turning back to Agravaine, as she stood so chilled in her ivory dress, she swore he looked on her and saw someone else entirely.

“You should return to Arthur,” he said – no more, no less, and merely turned to walk the rest of his way.

There were stories her mother used to tell, of boggarts who came from the darkness to prey on the innocent. But their nature betrayed them in the light of day, where even in the sun, they stayed as black as night itself.  

Now as she watched him go, a black smear against the walls, Guenevere had the oddest sense that she had found one in real life.

Gwenhwyfar was right. They had to get out of here, with or without her husband.

Hiding her shaking hands in the folds of her skirts, she resumed her task with purpose. The library, when she finally came upon it, was a cold, dark place, too - so unlike the one back home, with its rich white stones and high windows.

She browsed the shelves for a long time, urgency making her impatient as she tried to make sense of the order they kept here, until she finally found what she needed in a secluded, damp corner.

Flipping through the pages calmed her in time, finding peace in the facts scribbled inside that offered most of what she was looking for.

She had just about decided that a devil’s tear was best replaced by something called belladonna in this world, when – because it had no regard for the state of her heart and nerves – a short, old man came to startle her.

“My lady!”

Guenevere froze, book in hands, and could only think of saying, “I’m not a lady yet.”

He chuckled at that, holding on to his belly. “Oh, yes. But it’s good to get used to saying it.”

“Yes, it’s…good for me to get used to hearing it, too,” she said.

He smiled kindly. “Might I help you with something?”

“Oh, no, I’ve…found what I needed, thank you. My lord.”

But he didn’t leave her be, eyeing the book instead. “Is the king not joining us?”

What? “Um…he shan’t be long, I think.”

Whatever the man meant to say next was cut off by the gasp that came from behind him.

Guinevere.

The man looked from one to the other, head snapping back and forth, then clutched his chest, gasped in kind, and promptly crumbled to the ground.

Guinevere’s hands went to her mouth.

Guenevere bit her lip. “I’m…sure he’s not dead.”

Arthur tapped his foot, arms crossed, and glared at them. “What were you thinking?”

Guenevere sat as a guilty child at the table, with Gwenhwyfar leaning against the chair next to her. She looked like she was fighting a laugh the entire time, and honestly, Arthur found that just as insulting as the act itself.

“You nearly killed my master of ceremony two days before my wedding!”

“That’s…an overstatement,” Guenevere said.

Arthur wasn’t moved. “Explain yourself.”

Her chin jutted out at that. Obviously, a lady of her standing didn’t appreciate being addressed so. Well, he didn’t appreciate having the high of his first victory against Bors spoiled by being forced to ask Gaius to nurse Geoffrey of Monmouth back to health.

And to make the poor man believe he had been seeing things.

Guenevere’s mouth thinned like she’d swallowed something bitter, before she squared her shoulders, head held high as she declared, “I was bored.”

Gwenhwyfar promptly turned away to hide her face.

Arthur stilled. “Bored?”

“Yes.”

“You nearly frightened a man to death,” he said slowly, “because you were bored?”

“Obviously, it was never my intention to do any harm,” she said.

Was it obvious?

“But there’s not much for me to do here, and my company leaves something to be desired – ”

Gwenhwyfar stifled a snort.

“So I sought opportunity to entertain myself. Whatever grief I have caused you or your master of ceremony, I apologize for it.”

Guinevere had been right. They were nothing alike.

He had been so fooled by appearance, but now he began to wonder. They had shown themselves to be liars. And the strange things in Camelot had started with their arrival.

“I thought we had agreed you could not be seen,” he said tightly.

“It was never my attention to be seen.”

“So, of course, you decided to impersonate the future queen – for fun.”

She offered nothing in return.

“Forgive me, my lady,” he said coldly, “but I find it hard to trust your intentions here.”

“I mean no harm,” she said it again, like it still held any meaning at this point. Next to her, even Gwenhwyfar seemed to have stopped finding the situation amusing. She was looking to Merlin now. Then over his other shoulder, to Guinevere, her brow furrowed.

Arthur demanded, “Who brought you here?”

“I do not know,” Guenevere said, agitated.

“For what purpose?”

“I can’t imagine.”

He pressed his lips together. She wasn’t Guinevere. And yet to see her distressed… “You understand why I don’t believe that?” he pressed on nevertheless.

She swallowed. “I don’t know what – ”

“You said your husband would be here by now,” he cut in, striving to sound hard. “So where is he?”

She looked so frightened for a moment that he nearly lost his nerve. But he raised an eyebrow, sneering, “Don’t know that either?”

She looked away, down to her hands. But, inexplicably, Gwenhwyfar’s hand fell to her shoulder then, as if in comfortArthur frowned at it.

“She speaks the truth,” Gwenhwyfar said. “There is no need to upset her like this.”

What sort of game – “I’m meant to believe you’re friends now?”

“We are bound by this one experience,” she sounded hard, too, “of having our lives depend on your whims.”

“Please,” Guenevere choked, trying to silence her.

Arthur reeled. “You think I execute people for sport?”

“I think,” she said, “that by your laws, I ought to be dead by now. That it is a crime to love the practices that I do. Am I wrong?”

I am not my father, he thought, an immediate impulse. What he let her hear instead was, “I have never executed someone of your kind.”

She looked him up and down, with eyes he swore could see beyond what he could, all the way down to the stains of druid blood on his hands.

“I doubt that.”

He forced himself to show no weakness in the face of those few words. But perhaps they explained why the favor she showed him waxed and waned like the moon.

He suddenly did feel like his father, seeing foe where there was friend, seeing the guilty where there were only the innocent. So he turned to look over his shoulder, to Guinevere.

She stood unmoving next to Sir Leon, her expression troubled. She met his eyes, and ever-so-slightly, shook her head.

Arthur gave a quiet sigh, and faced the others again; Guenevere was holding on to Gwenhwyfar’s hand, whispering something he couldn’t quite make out.

“What’s that now, my lady?”

He saw no fear in her as she looked at him this time. “My husband will come,” she said, confident and clear. “Depending on what sort of magic brought us here, he might need to search a hundred worlds before he finds me. But he will.”

Arthur marveled at the sort of devotion she described.

Merlin said, “The one who can’t find his own backside?”

All spun around to him.

Arthur shook his head at the image he made, that of the perfect bumbling fool who realized a moment too late that he had spoken out loud.

Guenevere glared at Gwenhwyfar.

The latter laughed under her breath. “Forgive me.”

“He is not as incapable as you think.”

“He got lost trying to find his way from one tent to another!”

“Your camp is enormous!”

“They were right next to each other!”

So, their friendship obviously didn’t last long.

“You know, yours isn’t the most perfect of them either,” Guenevere said.

“Yes, well – better than yours,” was Gwenhwyfar’s reply.

Arthur stared at them. God, he needed a drink.

Or a hundred.

“Well, mine is the one who’s going to get us out of here – like I said.”

“No, like I said, yours is the one who is going to keep us here.”

Wait, what?

Guinevere cleared her throat. There was a question in her eyes when Arthur met them Whatever it was she wanted, he nodded his permission.

She came closer, eyes solely on Guenevere. “Does he come alone?” she asked.

Guenevere took a moment to answer. “No.”

“He needs someone to wield the magic for him?”

“Yes.”

Guinevere nodded, like it was exactly what she’d needed to hear. Arthur couldn’t fathom what that was.

Her voice softened the next moment though, a kind smile on her lips. “I understand what it means to fear an unfamiliar place,” she said. “But there is nothing to be frightened of. Not here.”

While Guenevere’s expression revealed little of her thoughts, there was that furrow in Gwenhwyfar’s brow as she stared Guinevere again, unwavering, and Arthur grew uneasy under it.

Guinevere didn’t seem to notice. “All the king has asked is that you be honest. Whatever it was you needed, you should have only asked.”

What was she –

Before he could make sense of it, Guenevere was speaking again. “This, you can see the truth of,” she said, like it was both a wonder and beyond understanding all at once.

Guinevere frowned, and Arthur did the same, the unease slithering up his spine like a chill.

Then, the windows banged open.

“Merlin!”

“I didn’t leave them open!” Merlin protested.

Arthur huffed, shook his head – and froze at the sight of Gwenhwyfar. Her eyes were not on them but the windows, wild and unfocused.

She moved before he could comprehend it, drawing her sword. It sliced through the air, splitting the spear that had sailed across the quarters.

Arthur pulled Guinevere behind him, reaching for his own blade, just as Leon did the same for Merlin. Guenevere hid under the table.

Guinevere’s ragged breaths were in his ear, her hands clutching at his back, while Leon looked to him for guidance he couldn’t offer and Merlin stared straight ahead – to Gwenhwyfar, before them all, chest heaving in the stillness, eyes roaming the place, looking for things only she seemed to see.

He heard her cry out before he ever saw the blade that came at her, striking down upon hers. It moved as if wielded by the best of swordsmen but there was nothing, no one, that held it – and yet Gwenhwyfar fought it, like she could see, sense, every move of her opponent.

But there was something Arthur could sense about them, too, something that he recognized –

Guinevere’s hands fisted in his shirt.

Finally, with a roar, Gwenhwyfar knocked the blade out of the air, making it clatter to the ground. She stood so for a moment longer before she straightened, as if whatever had attacked them was gone. But every muscle of her body remained tense.

She met his eyes over her shoulder.

“We are not only ones here who do not belong in this world.”

Chapter Text

“A ghost?”

“Yes.”

Arthur couldn’t really wrap his mind around it. “As in…”

“As in a spirit summoned from the other side,” Gwenhwyfar said, blowing the last of the powder out of the palm of her hand. Salt and lavender – that Merlin had, somehow, gone to fetch without ever having been told to –, crushed to the finest of powders, now settled into every corner of the royal chambers. She had said it was for protection.

From the ghost.

“Summoned?” Arthur echoed.

Gwenhwyfar wiped her hands. “Spirits cannot cross into the world of the living this way. Someone brought this one here.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t us,” she said, shaking her head.

When so much mystery surrounded them still, how could he truly believe that? He spared a glance at Guenevere, who had come out from under the table none worse for wear and now sat at it again with all the feigned calm of a woman who just wanted to be out of here.

She had broken her silence only once, to request Gwenhwyfar return her jewels so that she may weave them in her hair again. Arthur swore she wore them the way he wore his armor.

His eyes moving down the table, he prompted, “Gaius?”

“It is true,” Gaius said, “that what you have described resembles the actions of a ghost. It is entirely possible.”

Arthur turned to Gwenhwyfar. “You did not recognize them?”

“Even I do not have the power to see a ghost,” she said. “I can only sense their presence.”

Quite fortunate that was, too. Unless this was all some sort of game, the twists of which were entirely beyond his comprehension. But if he believed her to be genuine – “I must thank you,” he said. “Without you, I would surely be dead.”

Gwenhwyfar only nodded, lips pressing together. Her eyes slipped to Guinevere again.

“You believe this is connected to the assassin, my lord?” Leon asked.

“I have to assume the two are connected,” Arthur said, wearily dragging himself to the seat next to Guinevere’s Te look in her eyes told him she agreed. “Although – ”

He stopped himself just short of letting his mouth get away from him, wary now to share so much in front of their…guests.

But of course, he reckoned without Merlin.

“Odin hardly has the power to do this.”

Arthur turned to glare at him. He actually had the nerve to shrug in return.

While he entertained thoughts of nights in the stocks, Gwenhwyfar spoke, almost eagerly, “There are only a handful of ways to summon a ghost.”

“None of which Odin could do.” Merlin was nodding in agreement.

“How would you know?” Arthur let out. 

“Er…”

“I’m afraid they’re both right,” Gaius said. “To do this requires great knowledge of the spirit world. And Odin…has never been known to embrace sorcery, much less practice it. If he is behind this, then I must believe another is helping him.”

Of course.

Arthur sighed. “Morgana.”

Guinevere tensed beside him.

“She is your enemy?” Gwenhwyfar asked.

It was Merlin who answered again. “Yes.”

Oh, well, Arthur supposed. Do know when you are beaten. “She seeks the throne of Camelot.”

He swore he saw great sympathy in Gwenhwyfar's eyes before they turned away from him, to come and settle on Guenevere. What sort of obscure conversation flowed between them, Arthur couldn’t hope to guess.

Nor could he hope to guess Morgana’s reasoning, if she was involved. “But it isn’t like her to strike against me in this way.” Truthfully, if this was her, he would expect there to be more bloodshed. “Why would she hide like this, why would she send an assassin and a ghost to kill me under false pretences?”

The question hung in the air, unanswered.

It was then that Guenevere decided to end her long silence, to say, “She didn’t. In fact, this isn’t about you at all.” Her eyes slipped to Guinevere. “It’s about her.”

Arthur stilled.

“Me?” Guinevere let out, incredulous.

Guenevere didn’t waver. “Think on these attempts,” she urged. “You know I’m right.”

But Arthur was shaking his head. “Morgana’s quarrel is with me, it’s not with Guinevere.”

“I think her quarrel is with all of us,” Merlin said quietly.

Arthur met his eyes, so sad yet certain. But it made no sense. He wouldn’t believe it.

“No, this – ” He made to argue but it died on his tongue at the sight of Guinevere. She looked neither incredulous nor doubtful now, rather about as convinced as her double, biting her lip.

“It might be true,” she said, and it frightened him more coming out of her mouth than anyone else’s. “You see, it’s…happened before.”

“What?”

She cast a furtive glance towards Gaius. “When you set for the Isle of the Blessed, when the Dorocha were here, um…I’ve every reason to believe someone tried to kill me and make it look like their doing.”

It shocked him so completely, he couldn’t even find the words to answer.

Leon found them for him. “You never said anything!”

“I was going to, but then you returned, and Lancelot – ” She pressed a hand to her heart, swallowing. (Gwenhwyfar hung her head.) “And then, when it didn’t happen again, I just…”

“You should have told me,” Arthur said.

“I know." She chewed on her lip. “But like I said, nothing happened again, so I didn’t think it would…matter.”

“Someone tries to do you harm, and you don’t think it matters? To me?”

Guilt filled her eyes all at once. “I’m sorry.”

Arthur bit back a sigh. He forced his feelings aside now, to ask, “You suspected Morgana then?”

“Maybe.” Guinevere shrugged. “I thought about it for a long time, and I just…can’t imagine that anyone in Camelot would want to see me dead. But Morgana was near – she had to be, to cause the trouble she did, and so…so I thought that maybe, I could see her hand in it.”

“And now?”

She sighed deeply. “You know I believed the attempt yesterday to be clumsy, at best. But if…I was the target, then that might explain it. And if it is so, then I must also believe Odin has no hand in this. That it was only a trick of Morgana’s to divert suspicion.”

It fell into place so neatly, piece by piece, and each was as another stone settling in Arthur's gut.

“Why would Morgana strike against you?” he asked, seeking her hand under the table. “You’ve never done her any wrong.”

Her fingers wrapped around his tightly. “I’m starting to suspect that she’s hated me for a long time,” she said, her voice breaking on the words. “I do not know what it is I’ve done to deserve it.”

“You’ve done nothing,” he assured immediately.

She blew out a quiet breath, and offered him a watery smile.

Still grasping at her hand to help stay his temper, he turned to Guenevere. “You suspected this, too?”

“Only that she was the true target,” she admitted.

God grant him patience. “And you…never thought to say anything?”

“I am not of this world, what happens in it is not my business.”

“Right, so…a woman’s life hangs in the balance and that’s just none of your concern at all?”

“I never claimed to be as virtuous as you, my lord,” she said.

Ha! “So why speak up now?”

She shrugged and sighed in a way that could mean only one thing: Gwenhwyfar.

Arthur’s gratitude to her suddenly doubled. So it was to her that he turned to ask, “How do we get rid of this ghost?”

She shrugged. “It would help to be able to see them first.”

“There is a potion I might be able to make for that purpose,” Gaius said.

Arthur nodded. “Good.”

“The rest of it might depend on the way they were summoned,” Gwenhwyfar said, pacing the quarters. “The possibilities are few – ”

“Fewer still here, I think,” Guenevere supplied.

“Probably, but most still require action from the one who summoned the ghost in the first place. Assuming you have little leverage over your Morgana – ” she halted her circling, coming to a stand behind Guenevere – “that would make her undo what she has done, I fear you might be left with only one option.”

Arthur frowned. “Exorcism?”

She frowned in kind. “They haven’t possessed anyone.”

“Right.”

“I assume they cannot simply be killed again?” Leon spoke.

“Not by any mortal means, no,” Gwenhwyfar said – then smirked. “There is only one thing that can kill what is already dead.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows expectantly. She tapped the hilt of the sword at her back.

“It can do that?” he let out, just as Guinevere asked, “Is that because it was forged in a dragon’s breath?”

Forged in a what?

“Does it really have the power do that?” Merlin could be heard now, an odd sort of wonder in his voice.

Gwenhwyfar smiled. “If it will do your bidding.”

Arthur blinked. “It’s a sword.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“How can it…have a will of its own?”

Her mouth opened as if to explain it – then, by the look on her face, she seemed to decide he wouldn’t understand it if she did anyway. “Let’s just say it is no ordinary blade,” she said. “But I do believe it is your only recourse now.”

Arthur sobered. “Then I must ask you to help me.” 

She said nothing, neither to agree nor refuse, chewing on her lip. Guenevere looked like she might be chewing on her very tongue to keep it from running away from her.

“I know it is a lot to ask,” he added. “Even more so after I’ve accused you of lying and – obviously, you don’t think too highly of me, but…surely, you’re convinced of Guinevere’s good heart by now. And if your blade is the only thing that will save her, then I must ask for your help nonetheless.”

He waited for her answer, watching the expressions on her face change, from sympathy to conflict and back again - watching Guenevere close her eyes, as if in prayer that she would just say ‘no’.

But in the end, what she said was, “I’ll do it. I’ll help you.”

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief.

Guenevere muttered, “Yes, my husband’s the one who’s going to keep us here.”

“Surely, we will settle this quickly,” Gwenhwyfar said. 

“I do not understand you.” Guenevere twisted around to face her. “Just hours ago, you were so eager to leave, for fear of getting caught in the middle of this – for fear that your people will think you dead. And now you’re eager to stay and prolong their suffering?”

Gwenhwyfar’s mouth thinned. Lowering her voice, she said, “And if I have the chance to spare others here that same suffering but don’t, then what does that make me?”

Guenevere gave a quiet sigh, and turned to look across the table again. Arthur’s contempt must have shown on his face, because her brow creased in a frown.

“You must believe I hope no harm comes to anyone here – least of all you, Guinevere,” she said. “If anything, I would be saddened if it does. But I do not believe it is my place to try and change the fate of this world.”

Guinevere nodded. “I understand.”

“Then I hope you can also understand that I must think of myself first. Of my world, my kingdom, my husband, my daughter – ”

Arthur nearly fell out of his chair. “Your what now?”

Evidently, Gwenhwyfar was just as surprised as he. “You have a child?”

Guenevere’s head snapped from one to the other. “Yes, I…have a…daughter.”

Gwenhwyfar’s mouth was hanging open. “How did I not know about this?”

“She…is still very little,” Guenevere said. “I didn’t even know I was with child last time I saw you.” There, like she couldn’t quite help it, her mouth turned up in a smile, and she added, “She looks a lot like me.”

Gwenhwyfar chuckled. “That is going to be one spoiled princess.”

Arthur, for his part, was frozen, his every other thought coming to a screeching halt.

A child. She had a…child.

Children.

It took him a while to realize that time had passed and conversation had changed, to Leon wondering about the tournament.

“Should we cancel it, sire?”

“Um – ” Arthur cleared his throat. “No, to cancel it would invite too many questions. We must keep up appearances still, and it would be unwise for word to spread that we have a…ghost…assassin, in Camelot.”

He turned to Gwenhwyfar. “Your…powder, would it work on the jousting grounds, too?”

“Yes.”

“Good, right. Merlin – ”

“I’m fetching, I’m fetching,” Merlin muttered, already out the door.

“Once it is ready, have the knights cast it around the grounds,” he ordered Leon. He looked to Guinevere before adding, “Tell no one else what it’s really for.”

Guinevere nodded her agreement.

He kept his eyes only on hers even as Leon took his orders with a, “sire,” and followed Merlin out. She was remarkably calm in the face of this threat, the weight of it never once putting a dent in the set of her shoulders. He admired her strength at times like these, too.

“Gaius, that potion you spoke of…”

With a scrape of his chair, Gaius got to his feet and followed the order without a word. Gwenhwyfar and Guenevere moved further down the quarters without ever being prompted.

Now that they were as alone as could be, he took both of Guinevere’s hands in his.

“Nothing will happen to you,” he said. “I promise.”

“I know.”

He searched her face for any sign that she might be lying just to make him feel better, but though her eyes were grave, they showed no fear.

“If you want to tell Elyan,” he began, but she shook her head.

“It’s important that this be kept as quiet as possible, and Elyan is…not that.”

“Still, I understand if you want to count on your brother’s protection, too.”

“I fear that if I told him about this, he’d only cause more trouble in trying to do so.”

Despite himself, Arthur smiled. “Well, have no fear,” he said, squeezing her hands. “We will find this ghost and destroy it. Morgana will not succeed.”

Even as the reassurance passed his lips, his mind was filled with sayings of third times being the charm. (If there were only three.)

Guinevere’s bottom lip dipped, expression growing a bit pinched. “Do you not wonder how she knew?”

“Knew what?”

“That we were getting married.”

He frowned. “It…could be a coincidence that she chose to strike now.”

“Do you really believe that?”

No. “Then I must believe that someone told her about it.”

Teeth sinking into her lip, Guinevere nodded. “Perhaps the traitor you’ve long suspected to be in Camelot. Perhaps it was also he who aided the assassin.”

Arthur hung his head.

He’d suspected just about everyone to be this traitor once, from his men to Gaius to his uncle, a doubt that he hated to carry. And it began to creep up on him again now. “Only the knights knew where we were,” he said, quickly glancing to the side and back. “And them.”

“The assassin could have followed us to the picnic,” Guinevere dismissed. “It could even be that he was confused by the three of us and that it made him fail. But before that, someone had to have shown him around Camelot, pointed…me out to him.”

Terrible images crossed Arthur's mind again, of there being no one to cut down the spear, to knock down the sword - of them sailing past to strike Guinevere. Again, and again, he saw himself hold her, his hands red with her blood.

A new image came to torment him, of returning to Camelot only to have someone tell him that she was gone, of lifting a sheet to find her face covered in ice, her eyes cold and empty staring back at him.

His fingers tightened around hers involuntarily. But he only said, “You’re right.”

“And perhaps, in time,” she hedged, “there will be a way to draw him out?”

Arthur nodded. But with doubt gnawing at him, his eyes inevitably went to the two by the window. “You trust their intentions?”

“I think, Gwenhwyfar at least has proved herself.”

“It’s not her I worry about,” Arthur muttered, sighing. “You were right about her, too. You’re very different.”

The corner of her mouth quirking into a faint smile, Guinevere quietly said, “I think I would’ve done the same, actually.”

It couldn’t be what she meant, but striving to get a full smile out of her, Arthur said, “I know Geoffrey can be difficult, but that’s a bit harsh.”

It worked, if only for a little while.

“I don’t believe for a moment that she was only bored,” Guinevere said. “If she was looking through the books, I have to assume it was to try and find a way home.” Shrugging, she added, “I don’t think I would’ve done any different in her place, really.”

Arthur bit his lip. “I don’t think she could have learned magic from any books here.”

“No, but her husband doesn’t wield it himself to do this sort of thing either.”

“Right…and if whoever comes with him is known to her…”

“Then it might also be who she would seek out here to do her bidding,” Guinevere concluded simply. “And if it is so, then her husband’s companion might at the very least reveal the identity of a sorcerer we may have in our midst.”

She just had this way of seeing things.

He marveled at it, really.

Her brow creased as she went on, though. “She was dishonest, but I don’t believe that makes her duplicitous, only wary of an unfamiliar place. Besides…I imagine that just sitting around waiting like this is even harder for a mother.”

Yet a new image came to his mind now, of being told the same thing his father had been of his mother, that sorcery had taken her before their child had even opened his eyes. Of having to watch him grow to bear her likeness, when –

“Are you alright?”

“Um, wha – yes.” Arthur rubbed his forehead. He had to put it from his mind. Affecting a brave face, he added, “I’m sorry. It’s just a lot to worry about it, is all.”

Guinevere nodded in sympathy, rubbing her lips together.

He hated to grieve her further still as he said, “You can’t stay in your home tonight. It’s too dangerous.”

Her face fell – a stab to his heart –, but she shrugged it off. “I understand.”

“I’ll have Merlin arrange quarters for you next to mine,” he promised. “I’ll be just a door away if you need me, and…you’ll have a guard.”

“By guard,” she said, “you mean her.” She nodded to the window.

“She is the only one who has a weapon that will ensure your safety.”

Guinevere sighed softly.

“I’m sure you’ll find plenty to talk about,” he reassured.

She raised an eyebrow. “She and I have even less in common than Her Majesty and I do.”

The way she spoke the title made him bite back a snort. Then he grappled for anything that would disprove the statement – and couldn’t really think of anything.

Guinevere deadpanned, “Perhaps we’ll have riveting discussions about armor.”

Now he did snort, and quickly tried to cover it with a cough. “You could make even such a topic interesting,” he declared.

She was the one to laugh this time, a soft and lovely sound, like she thought he was silly for saying it, but it was the most beautiful thing he’d heard all day.

Resolved to enjoy it while it lasted, he bent his head to press a kiss to her smiling lips.

“She unleashed the Dorocha!”

“Just because you wouldn’t do it…”

“But to have such little regard for the balance of the world – ”

“Now you care for the balance of things again?”

Gwenhwyfar pursed her lips, looking away. Her eyes fell upon Arthur and Guinevere, hands joined by the table, talking softly enough that they could not be heard.

“To even visit other worlds defies the way of things, the very laws of nature, to partake in them – ”

“Alright,” she interrupted pointedly, to be met with Guenevere’s raised eyebrow.

She cast her eyes to the window, dragging her finger through the protection she had blown along the sill.

“You speak of meddling in another’s fate,” she said. “But what if it is our own fates that have brought us here – ” her finger drew still; one leg, another – “what if there is a reason that Emrys has brought us to this place, at this time? What if it is by design – ” the third – “that your husband was late enough that we have ended up in the middle of this despite our wishes?”

She blew out a breath, and the triskelion disappeared.

“No one, no matter how great, can know their destiny,” she said. “We only understand the meaning of our journey at the end. So who’s to say, that this one act of kindness is not part of mine?”

Guenevere chuckled. “You pretend to be hard,” she said, “but you’ve got the softest heart of us all.”

She might have thought it an insult, if not for the gentle look in Guenevere’s eyes.

“No one could ever accuse you of the same,” she remarked, though softly.

“Perhaps not,” Guenevere allowed. “But I don’t for a moment hope that Morgana will succeed.”

Morgana.

Gwenhwyfar had wondered about her, about what circumstances had made of her here. Morgaine, as she knew her, was her father’s daughter, cold and ruthless. But even she never usurped the dead.

She wondered what Guenevere thought of her, too, what label she would give her when she inscribed her in that library of hers. “Is she like many others you have met?”

Guenevere sighed. “Most, actually.”

Gwenhwyfar cocked her head. “And it never makes you doubt yours?”

From the little tick of Guenevere’s chin, she thought she might have struck a nerve.

“She is no more the Morgana of this world than I am Guinevere.”

“But?”

Guenevere sighed, looking out the window. “I’ve no reason to doubt her,” she said. “It’s just that sometimes, I wonder if she is all that she seems. Perhaps because I cannot understand why…a woman would forsake her rightful place upon the throne so easily.”

Gwenhwyfar smirked. “Just because you wouldn’t do it…”

It earned her a little sideways glance, and a smile just at the corner of her mouth. Looking at her standing in the sunlight now, with her pretty dress and the sea diamonds in her hair, Gwenhwyfar had no doubt she would have been every bit the queen her Morgana had refused to be, given the chance.

But perhaps different in one way.

“I’m sorry,” she spoke, maybe a little too quickly. Guenevere frowned. “That I…thought of you as a coward throughout this. I didn’t know you had a child to think of.”

Guenevere’s expression cleared. “She is safe, no matter what befalls me,” she said. “I know that.”

“Would be terrible for her to grow up without a mother, though,” Gwenhwyfar commented.

Guenevere agreed with a quiet hum, eyes going across the room. They narrowed the longer she looked, lips pursed in thought. “I’ve not heard a whisper about Ygraine here,” she said.

“So?”

“But Agravaine is at court.”

Gwenhwyfar racked her brain. Agravaine – Igraine’s brother who had ingloriously died from being frightened by a sparrow and falling into a ditch when Arthur was a child. Not here, though, evidently.

“Right, and if they’re not here together – ”

“It’s probably because she’s dead,” Guenevere concluded.

“Could be more complicated. Perhaps she left or…betrayed someone here and was forced to leave.”

Guenevere gave a single nod to the side. “He wears her ring.”

Dead it was, then.

“Why does it matter?”

“I saw him. Agravaine,” Guenevere said. “He is…strange, here.”

“You think he’s…involved in this somehow?”

“Perhaps.”

Gwenhwyfar clicked her tongue. “I don’t suppose you want to say anything about this either?”

“Accusing a king’s family of treachery is more delicate than telling him someone’s trying to kill his future wife.”

Could it still be said, Gwenhwyfar wondered, of one who had so quickly given up his pride to try and protect her life?

“Maybe not for this one.”

After a moment, Guenevere asked, ever-curious, “Can you really see yours in him?”

By the table, Arthur bent his head, to press a soft kiss to Guinevere’s lips.

Gwenhwyfar sighed. “Perhaps only a little.”

Victory was tasteless.

Arthur had been so looking forward to this tournament, and now he only looked forward to it to end. His eyes strayed to Guinevere often, not see if she was enjoying herself, only to make sure nothing terrible had befallen her, a last warning from Gwenhwyfar echoing in his ears.

"The ghost will grow stronger yet," she had said. "Soon, there will be no limits to what they can do."

Merlin had been right. He should have just given Guinevere flowers.

Cheers erupted for Sir Percival as he held up his lance to the crowd while Arthur dragged himself off to the tents, where Merlin stood waiting. His expression betrayed him entirely.

“This is no time to say ‘I told you so’,” Arthur warned.

“I wasn’t going to.”

He didn’t believe that for a second.

Grabbing a goblet from Merlin’s hand, his eyes inevitably went to Guinevere again. Sitting alone up in the lodge, she seemed so terribly unprotected now. Funny, considering what he had meant to show her with this tournament. And yet for all the men impressing their strength upon her now, all that stood between her and peril was some salt and flower they had spread around her and the people – a senseless sight that no one else in Camelot would ever hope to understand.

Her words never left him either. That something must have urged Morgana to act now, that someone had to have told her of their wedding - perhaps, most likely, the traitor he had long suspected existed in Camelot.

Suspicion weighed heavy on him again now, split between every face in the crowd, both the present and the absent.

Merlin, probably, was the only one among them he wouldn’t suspect of being duplicitous.

“Why would Morgana do this?” Arthur asked quietly. “Guinevere doesn’t have a bad bone in her body. It makes no sense to want to harm her.”

Merlin took a moment to reply. “I don’t think any of us can hope to understand Morgana anymore.”

Arthur nodded, though it brought him no answers. With a sigh, he finished off his water and thrust the cup back at Merlin, moving to his tent.

He lifted the flap, took one step inside, and found himself staring at his own reflection.

His double gave a tight-lipped smile.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find my wife, would you?”

Chapter Text

Morgana stared into the flames, only barely listening to Agravaine’s grievances.

“You’ve sent him to kill Guinevere and he’s done little more than embarrass her,” he would say.

“He will grow stronger yet,” she’d reply.

“It is inconceivable that you would need to resort to him for help!” he’d cry.

She would only say, “It is necessary.”

He spoke more but Morgana hardly heard it, watching the flames lick at the wood beneath the cauldron.

She’d had a dream – of holding a small child in her arms, of singing her incantations of the Old Religion as if they were lullabies, in a place that she had never known, bright and beautiful – and woken with a sadness she could not explain.

It was the child’s eyes that stayed with her now, big and brown but honey-like in the sunlight, and she swore she had looked into them a thousand times before. It could not be but it had felt like foretelling the future, just as real as Emrys condemning her on the battlefield of a war yet to happen - or Gwen taking her place upon the throne.

Agravaine asked, yet again, “Is there not another way?”

She looked to him sharply. “Do you not see how perfect this plan is?” she snapped. “I alone have power over Uther now. No one can stop him – not Arthur, not Emrys. She will die before the day is done.” She cocked her head, eyes narrowed. “Or have you grown fond of her?”

He shook his head immediately. “No, my lady,” he denied. “I would end her life myself without a second thought. It is only the thought of Uther that troubles me.” His mouth twisted. “Was it hard to convince him to do this?”

She almost laughed. “Not in the slightest. He despises the thought of Arthur marrying a serving girl. He always valued his legacy above all else.”

“Yes,” Agravaine agreed tightly. “It is the reason Ygraine is dead.”

He looked away, somewhere off to the jars that lined her shelves. Never once meeting her eyes, he said, “My brother haunts me in my dreams. He condemns me for letting Uther sacrifice this girl for his legacy like he did our sister.” He gave a single, mirthless chuckle. “He was always so righteous.”

Morgana really didn’t see why he expected her to care about that.

Still, she stepped closer and said, “It is painful but it is necessary. But once it is done, I promise you,” she added, “that before I send Uther back, I will make sure that his spirit is cursed forever. That he will spend eternity in agony.”

Agravaine smiled slowly, nodding. It was pitiful, really, how easily she could sway the man.

She will die before the day is done, she reminded herself and she smiled in kind, the corner of her mouth twisting with it.

Arthur never knew that Guenevere could even make such a strong sound.

Somewhere between a gasp and a cry of joy, it left her throat the moment her husband came into the room, picking up her skirts to run to him just as he went to her. They met in the middle, arms going around each other so strongly that her feet left the ground from the force of it.

Merlin grinned at the sight and Guinevere chuckled, as Arthur shut the door behind them. It bounced off the frame and hit him in the rear.

Even doors conspired against him now. Brilliant.

Guenevere was nodding at whatever her husband was asking, sometimes whispering things in return. He took her face in his hands and pressed a sound kiss to her lips for all to see.

Arthur looked away from propriety’s sake when it grew a little too long, and caught Guinevere’s eye as she did the same. Merlin, naturally, just kept looking on.

It was only after he parted from his wife that their new guest seemed to take an interest in his surroundings.

“Gwenhwyfar!” he let out.

“My lord,” she deadpanned.

He positively beamed. “How’ve you been?”

“Splendid.”

He bit his lip, leaning into Guenevere. “You’ve spent all this time with her?”

“Yes,” she said, long-suffering. He seemed to find it terribly amusing.

Still with his arm around her, he looked over the rest of them, and finally, Arthur understood how strange this had been for Guinevere.

Never had he been more aware of his face, his body – his voice, even – than when they stared back at him like this, only slightly altered by a short beard and longer hair, armor polished beyond anything Merlin had ever managed to achieve, with a dragon cast in gold upon the breastplate – and something just a little too cheerful in the way that he spoke.

It was still in his voice as he said, “I must thank you. For keeping my wife safe.”

In her tales, Guenevere had apparently not mentioned his interrogation of her. A small kindness Arthur appreciated, as he really did not need to start a quarrel with himself on top of everything else right now.

“Though I do not understand why – ”

Guenevere leaned to whisper more in his ear. His eyebrows went up and down with it, grimaces coming and going, and at seeing what his face actually looked like doing that, Arthur decided then and there that he was going to spend the rest of his life entirely expressionless.

In the end, the only comment they received on it all was, “I see.”

“My lord,” Guinevere spoke, a deepness to her voice (forgetting his earlier vow, Arthur frowned at it), “we were told that you would not come alone.”

That was a very good point, actually.

Guenevere looked very pointedly away as her husband put a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat, angling his head just so.

Arthur could not fathom why, until there suddenly appeared a figure where there used to be nothing at his side. He drew his sword without even thinking.

Guinevere gasped.

Merlin wheezed.

Arthur spat, “You.”

The sorcerer grimaced at him, his beard shaking from it.

His king only looked put-upon. Glibly, he said, “Calm yourself, please.”

“He killed my father!” Arthur reeled, raising his sword in accusation. His hand shook around it, as looks he couldn’t comprehend settled on all their faces, his rage blinding him to all else.

“Arthur,” Guinevere’s voice pierced through, her presence closer at his side. “It wasn’t him. He only bore his likeness. Please.”

His blade lowered under her words as surely as it would have under her hand upon his arm. He took a deep breath to calm himself – though he could still not find the will to look the man in the eye.

“Forgive me,” he spoke to the floor instead, “I acted without thinking.”

“That’s alright,” his own voice spoke back at him. “I knew he probably wasn’t…welcome here. It’s why I had him cloak himself – make himself invisible, you understand. I mean, three different men screamed at sight of him on our way here.”

Arthur nearly wept. “You were seen?”

“Oh, don’t worry. He erased their memories.”

It seemed he would quarrel with himself after all. “You used magic on my people?”

He received a scowl in return. “It was one of yours who took my wife without warning. I will not apologize for what I’ve done to find her. Whatever your laws may be.”

A tense silence followed, as Arthur chewed on his tongue and his double glared.

“Dragoon?!” the sorcerer burst out suddenly, whirling on Gwenhwyfar. She looked like she was desperately trying not to laugh.

“Which is…my name.” He turned back to them a moment later, nodding firmly. “Yes, that is me. I am Dragoon. The Great.”

Arthur sighed.

Why were sorcerers like this?

“Well, then,” Dragoon went on after a moment, “I think we’ve said all we’ve needed to say here. Perhaps it’s time for us to leave.” He threw a pointed look at his king there, and though the latter looked like he wanted to argue, he gave in.

“You’re probably right,” he said. “So, then, I…I am sorry for any trouble we may have caused. It wasn’t anyone’s intention to do harm.” He nodded, looking over his shoulder. “I assume you need some help getting home, Commander?”

Gwenhwyfar pursed her lips. “I’ll actually be staying for a while, Your Highness.”

Arthur really wished he didn’t know what his face looked like when his eyes bulged that far out of his head.

“You wish to stay here?”

“I am needed at the moment.”

“What?”

“It’s about the Guinevere of this world,” Gwenhwyfar said, nodding in her direction. “Someone’s trying to kill her, you see.”

In hindsight, the loud declaration of, “Well then we must stay and help as well!” that followed it was, probably, to be entirely expected. Arthur considered the polite thing to do would have been to ask if they actually wanted his help first.

Dragoon reacted to it in no way, only taking on the vacant air of a man who had long ago decided to just take his misfortunes in stride. Guenevere shook her head only slightly, the faint shadow of a smile on her lips.

“My love – ”

“It’s alright,” she staved off her husband’s arguments, casting a look at Gwenhwyfar before adding, “I knew you would say that.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “You don’t have to stay. Me – Em – Dragoon, will take you home. I will join you when it is over.”

Arthur thought for sure that she would jump at the opportunity. But she hesitated, chewing on her lip, and the time for surprises continued when she raised her chin and proudly decided, “I will stay.”

This number of helping hands would amount to nothing short of a disaster, in Arthur’s opinion. But the hilt of the sword hanging from his double’s belt shone suspiciously like the one strapped to Gwenhwyfar’s back, and so he held his tongue.

Then chewed on it when his double, after having kissed his wife’s forehead, turned to Guinevere.

“Have no fear, my lady,” he said. “Whoever’s trying to do you harm won’t stand a chance against all of us.”

“Oh, I…” Why was she so flustered? “I’m – I’m not quite yet. A lady, I mean. Our wedding’s the day after tomorrow.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“But if you don’t mind me asking…if you have no title yet, I take it that means you are of the people?”

Guinevere smiled. “Yes,” she said. “I am the daughter of a blacksmith.”

He grinned. “That’s brilliant!”

Guinevere laughed lightly. Arthur grimaced.

“And you know it reminds me, I once you knew you as an assassin – ”

Oh, God.

“And you would forge your own weapons so that you could hide them in your clothes and jewels. It was ingenious, really. In fact, you showed me a dagger that you had made out of a comb. I’d never seen craftsmanship like that. And actually, you’d been sent to kill me with it. Well…” He chuckled. “The me of that world, obviously.”

“Um…”

“Oh, don’t worry, all was well in the end. We ended up falling in love.”

“That’s…lovely.”

“I think so.”

Arthur found himself shaking his head as one with Guenevere.

“Only you would tell that story to a woman who has an assassin after her at this very moment,” Gwenhwyfar commented.

He at least looked contrite at his blunder. “Forgive me if I’ve upset you.”

“No, it’s alright,” Guinevere dismissed. “It’s…an interesting story.”

“Oh, well, I’ve got plenty of those – ”

“Perhaps,” Guenevere interrupted gently, “we should rather discuss how we’re going to help in this matter. And then we can leave Guinevere to think on her wedding in peace.” It was probably the most subtle way Arthur had ever heard anyone say, “We’re not truly welcome here.”

Her husband seemed to have caught her meaning, nodding. “Of course. If you don’t mind me asking, though…who is it that’s after you?”

Guinevere swallowed. “Morgana Pendragon.”

He clicked his tongue. “I see,” he said, lips pressing together like they were holding back a sigh. “It’s a good job I didn’t come here with her then.”

“Come here with her?” Arthur let out.

“No one knows more about the magic that binds the different worlds…than my sister.”

The way he said it, so simple and kind, made something seize violently in Arthur’s chest. “She knows much about magic here, too,” he said. “Except she’s only ever used it against me.”

“I’ve got plenty of stories like that, too.”

“Mm.” Arthur busied himself with sheathing his sword for a moment, before he cleared his throat. “I can’t imagine why, but she means Guinevere harm. She sent an assassin after her, and when that failed, she…summoned…a ghost, to do the job.”

“A ghost?”

“We don’t know who it is,” Gwenhwyfar supplied. “Only that they are violent.”

“Is there a way to banish them back to the spirit world?”

“Not likely,” she said, then shrugged. “We thought to just destroy them, really.”

He understood her perfectly, it seemed, for he merely grinned and reached for his own sword, and Arthur’s instincts were proved right when he drew it out, golden and engraved just the same as Gwenhwyfar’s. “I think we can manage that, between the two of us.”

Arthur cocked his head. “Where might I get one of those?”

“Have you tried the lake of Avalon?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Well – ”

“We cannot destroy it unless we find it,” Dragoon spoke up. “And we cannot find it unless we can see it.”

Wishing he could still not see him, Arthur said, “My physician is working on a potion for that purpose.”

“Good. I propose we put it to the test come nightfall. It will be easier to search this place under the cover of darkness.”

“And if we split up,” Gwenhwyfar added, “we might have a better chance at finding them. And then, when we know who it truly is, we might know how best to lure them into a trap later.”

Arthur nodded.

Should be fun.

Nightfall saw Merlin biting at his nails as his eyes bounced from one group to the second to the third, all broken off into different corners – all the while trying to silently plead with his double not to accidentally expose and get him burnt at the stake. Well no, Arthur didn’t favor that sort of thing. So it would probably just be the noose, then.

Gwenhwyfar had refused to keep being the middle man of their conversations, though her laughter still sometimes echoed in his head (“Emrys, honestly…Dragoon?”). But he would admit that he wasn’t too keen on keeping it up either, not after she began asking why Arthur thought he was the one who’d killed his father.

She was off circling the table in these chambers he’d set up for Gwen, every now and again casting glances at Arthur’s double. Merlin thought there was perhaps a hint of envy in her eyes, that he would get to go off searching for the ghost while she had to stay behind and guard Gwen.

But Arthur – his Arthur, had asked it of her in such a heartfelt way that she probably didn’t have it in her to refuse.

He stood to the side with Gwen now, talking to her in whispers. Merlin decided to focus on that, if only just to avoid Gaius’s judging eyes boring into him from the table. It was remarkable how strongly he managed to convey, “Do you see what you’ve done now?” without uttering a single word.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful,” Arthur said.

Gwen’s smile was short-lived. “I don’t like the thought of you alone with him.”

Him, of course, being Dragoon, because Arthur insisted that, if they were going to split up, he would be taking the sorcerer and Merlin would get his double. A brilliant plan, as Gwen saw it.

“Well, I can’t very well leave Merlin alone with him, can I? He’d never survive facing off against a sorcerer.” (Oh, the irony.)

“Do you suppose you’ll have to face off against him?”

Arthur gave a tight sigh. “I can’t say that I trust him.”

“Then why accept his help in the first place?”

“There isn’t anything I would not do for you,” Arthur said simply.

Her eyes softened. “I don’t want you to put yourself through this. Not on my behalf.”

Arthur picked up on the unspoken part of it. “I know he’s not the one who killed my father.” (Merlin flinched.)

“It’s not always easy to remember it,” Gwen said. “Not when he looks exactly like him.”

“Hmm. Speaking of that,” Arthur said, “you seem quite taken with my doppelganger.”

“He’s…sweet.”

“I rather think I can see exactly why Gwenhwyfar dislikes him.”

Gwen chuckled under her breath. “He’s not so bad.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

“Well, he looks like you,” Gwen teased, a twinkle in her eye, “I can’t help it.”

It had to be some kind of joke between them by the way they smiled at each other, and Arthur’s hand came up to cup Gwen’s cheek. Merlin smiled to himself.

Finding reasons to smile about got more difficult when the time came to take Gaius’s potion – which tasted suspiciously like horse dung –, but grew oddly easier as he found himself wandering the palace and dodging guards with Bearded Arthur.

The man wasn’t bad company – he’d agree with Gwen’s opinion of him, really. The more that he spoke – and speak, he did plenty – the more Merlin grew fond of him.

“So tell me again how your Arthur thinks you killed his father but doesn’t seem to know it was actually you?”

Except he asked the same questions as Gwenhwyfar.

“It’s a long story,” Merlin deflected.

“Alright, but just tell me this,” Arthur asked. “Did he deserve it? Uther?”

Merlin started. “I…I didn’t mean to kill him.”

Nor had he meant to confess it. But it had come out all too easily in the face of this Arthur, who never seemed to condemn him. Or have any great love for his father.

“He’s the reason magic is banned here,” Merlin's tongue loosened more, though he spoke quietly, “the reason I have to hide who I am. I...can’t deny that I wished he were gone a few times, just…not like this. I fear…” He swallowed. “I fear that in causing Uther’s death, I have forever destroyed any chance of returning magic to Camelot.”

“Prejudice runs deep,” Arthur agreed, “but there is always hope. Common sense and the desire for peace prevail more often than you’d think. Even now – ” he gestured around – “your king consorts with the likes of me and you and Gwenhwyfar – even if it does come from need rather than reason. Who knows, perhaps you’ve given yourself the chance to undo the damage you have done. Even if it was quite by accident.”

Ah, yes. “I am sorry,” Merlin said. “For what I put you through. You seemed…upset, before you saw your wife again.”

“She was taken from me without warning once before.” Arthur’s eyes darkened, the cheer he carried in his every step dwindling. He seemed a different person for a moment, hard and unforgiving.

“But I don’t fault you for anything,” he turned back to himself just as quickly. “It was an accident. Guenevere said as much. But I still don’t understand…what were you trying to do?”

“I was trying to help Gwen.” Maybe if he said it enough, it would start making sense again.

“Obviously.”

“I mean – ” Merlin sighed, batting cobwebs out of their way. “I just wanted to give her a chance to prove herself. I thought she needed that. I wanted…to create a situation that would give it to her, I never meant to open doors to other worlds – I didn’t even know they existed!” He huffed. “But I said the wrongs things, evidently, and now you’re all here. Gaius is not pleased.”

Arthur laughed. “I imagine not. But maybe it was fortunate. You may yet get to change views on magic. Gwenhwyfar’s presence was certainly invaluable from what I gather. And – ” he grinned – “you, quite by chance, kept your true nature hidden when you chose to do all this precisely when Morgana had cursed you to appear as an old man for a month.”

“Morgana?” A knot formed in Merlin’s chest.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “She wants to present some findings at the Witches’ Summit, you said they’ll laugh at her, so she called you a donkey, and then you said something about her hair, I don’t – ” He sighed. “You two exhaust me.”

The knot tightened. “Are we friends?”

“Not that either of you have ever admitted it but…yes.”

He painted such a world, where he and his kind walked free and without fear, where magic was a thing of beauty - where there were no secrets between them, and he and Morgana were enemies only for show.

Was it really so fortunate, in the end, that he had gotten to hear about it?

Merlin could only think of saying, “That…sounds nice.”

“I take it you’ve fallen out here a long time ago?”

“Something like that.”

It earned him a look of sympathy. “It is what it is,” Arthur said. “But take heart, Merlin. The worlds are infinitely strange places. Anything can happen. And everything can change for the better.”

His optimism was infectious – and his thinking somehow familiar, though, perhaps, in an unlikely way. “You remind me of Gwen.”

Arthur grinned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re more like her than her doubles. Especially your wife. I mean,” he quickly backtracked, “not in a bad way, obviously. They’re just…different.”

“You mean, they’re different with you,” Arthur remarked pointedly.

Pretty much. “I do get it. I am a servant, it’s just…I’m not used to someone who looks like Gwen actually treating me as one.” It made him wonder, just briefly, if that was how it would be, when she was queen.

Arthur pursed his lips. “I know sometimes people think she’s cold.” He shook his head. “She isn’t. But she is always careful. And you’re right, it is because you are a servant that she treats you as one. It would be strange, wouldn’t it, if a queen suddenly started treating a servant as if they were equals? Your people might start to wonder.” He shrugged. “If she treats you such, it is only to protect your secrets.”

Merlin blinked. “Oh.”

“Both she and Gwenhwyfar – and my Merlin, actually,” Arthur said, “like to pretend that it doesn’t affect them so much to meet other versions of those they care about. But they’re not immune to it. No one is. In the end, we care for them as we do for our own.”

Merlin considered that. “Does that mean Gwenhwyfar hates you in her world?”

Arthur threw his head back, laughing. “Oh, Merlin…”

Gwenhwyfar had proposed a game.

Gwen didn’t quite grasp the rules of it, but it seemed to be the sort of thing she played with her army to make them forget their troubles, and involve lots of wine and the telling of embarrassing truths.

Which was how she had found herself confessing to once farting in front of the entire court.

And how she now found herself hearing Guenevere say, “Arthur and I were married for a half a year before we shared a night in bed.”

She choked on her drink.

Gwenhwyfar guffawed. “Is he that inadequate?”

If her temper were different, Gwen surmised Guenevere would have flung her cup at her. “No!”

“All I’m saying is, if he can’t find a tent, how can he be expected to find – ”

“Oh, will you stop it with the – ” Guenevere huffed. “If you must know,” she said primly, “it was because of our circumstances. We only met days before our wedding. To me, it was how I’d expected to meet my husband, but the truth is, we were strangers to each other, which is…exactly how I acted towards him. And he said he couldn’t take a girl to bed when he didn’t know if she liked him, too.”

“Oh,” Gwen said.

“That is…actually rather sweet,” Gwenhwyfar admitted, pursing her lips.

Guenevere smiled in victory, tipping her cup. Evidently, the game dictated it was Gwenhwyfar’s turn to down hers. It was right up to her lips when she paused, cocking her head. “It took you half a year to like him?”

Now it was Guenevere who stilled. She chewed on her lip, dragging her eyes from across the table to the head of it, beseeching.

“I do believe the rules say you must answer,” Gwen ruled. She didn’t actually know if that was true.

But Guenevere surrendered nevertheless, sighing softly. “You may find it hard to believe,” she said, “but I didn’t always think of him as I do now. When we first met, I thought him…” She struggled for the word, like it pained her to say it, and only managed to get it out after a deep breath, “Simple.”

She sighed again. “Unschooled in the way of kings. Tactless, and...incapable.” She met Gwenhwyfar’s eyes. “It took some time to…see that I was wrong.”

There was something just a little too familiar about that admission, and Gwen couldn’t help but smile to herself. Gwenhwyfar only knocked back a mighty gulp of her wine with a soft grunt.

Wiping her mouth, she said, “At least Guinevere here won’t have the same problem…I hope?”

Both pairs of eyes went to her expectantly. Blushing a little under the scrutiny, Gwen said, “No I don’t think so.” Perhaps it was the third cup she was nursing that loosened her tongue, but she added, “I’m rather looking forward to it, actually.”

At the others’ raised eyebrows, she sighed and said, “It’s just been so many years.”

Laughter erupted around the table – Gwenhwyfar was so amused, in fact, that she smacked her hand down upon it –, and Gwen was swept by it, too, giggling along.

The thought of duty and responsibility had weighed so heavily on her mind these last few days, that it had almost made her forget that she had just been a girl in love long before that - sometimes walking around with a broken heart from thinking it would never be, sometimes dreaming that it could.

It would be a shame, wouldn’t it, to die barely more than a day before it actually was?

She stared into the depths of the swirling wine, her good mood draining. She hadn’t even thought of speaking to Arthur of what would happen if they failed, but perhaps –

She started when Gwenhwyfar’s hand came to rest atop hers. “All will be well,” she said, as if she could read her very thoughts.

Gwen smiled wanly. “I know. It’s just…hard not to think about it, is all.”

“It is not unwise to,” Guenevere said. “Whatever the extent of her power, a queen must always think as her king does. And wonder what the consequences will be if she is gone.”

Gwen nodded – and didn’t say aloud that she wished Arthur actually thought that way more often, too.

“Think about dying a lot, do you?” Gwenhwyfar asked.

Guenevere only challenged, “Don’t you?”

“Far more often than you, I’d wager,” was Gwenhwyfar’s reply.

“Well, at least after this,” Guenevere said, “you won’t have to wonder how it affects the prince anymore.”

It wasn’t spoken cruelly but, to Gwen’s surprise, Gwenhwyfar’s eyes suddenly seemed wet in the candlelight. She slunk back in her chair, muttering, “It’s like you said…he will see me again soon. Besides, he’s clever, surely by now he’s realized that I haven’t died.”

“I do not think that changes the way your absence feels for him now, though.”

Gwenhwyfar huffed, snapping, “Do you enjoy wounding me?”

Guenevere shook her head, lips pressed together. “No.”

Gwen looked between them, frowning. “Forgive me, I don’t understand…what…”

“We share a bond,” Gwenhwyfar said. “It is…an ancient rite, between a warrior and their liege, in the old days, um…” She cleared her throat. “It was done for surety, so that…the warrior might sense the other’s distress, where they were, if…something had happened to them.” One of her fingers rose to trace the edges of her marking absentmindedly. “They would…take their mark and thus be bound forever. When I was torn from my world, it must have...felt as if I had died. To him.”

A terrible feeling, Gwen surmised. “You…felt his distress at realizing it?”

“No.” Gwenhwyfar shook her head. “I can only imagine.”

“But you said,” Gwen tried to work out the logistics of this, “that it was the warrior who took their liege’s mark, so surely it goes both ways if he can also – ”

“He did it for me,” Gwenhwyfar interrupted, barely above a whisper.

Oh.

“That…seems like a great commitment. From a prince.”

Gwenhwyfar looked everywhere but at them, mumbling, “I am important to the endeavor.”

“To the endeavor or to his heart?” Guenevere challenged.

“It does sound to me,” Gwen agreed, “like he cares a great deal about you.”

Gwenhwyfar fidgeted. “Can we discuss something else?”

“Oh, no,” Guenevere refused. “I believe it is my turn to ask questions now. So answer me this: do you not think about him?”

It was a revelation, really, to see Gwenhwyfar’s expression morph into one of a doe caught between two hunters - unbefitting, of someone who was always so certain of everything.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said.

“You’ve said yourself that you wonder – ”

“I told you to forget about that.”

“To hear you say such a thing is too striking to forget,” Guenevere pressed – quite courageous of her, Gwen thought, to keep testing her luck like this, for a woman who cowered before most things.

She hardly followed the events they referenced, but some things were easy enough to understand.

“What you describe,” she said, “are hardly the actions of a man who does not feel the same way about you.”

It got Gwenhwyfar to look at her at least . “My feelings do not matter,” she said, “any more than his do. He will do what is best for Camelot.”

“How do you know that’s not you?”

“You’ve said yourself,” Guenevere chimed in immediately, “that we cannot know the meaning of our journey until the end of it. So how do you know that being queen is not part of yours?”

Gwenhwyfar’s eyes shut at the mention of the title alone, her expression pained. “There is a difference, between wondering what you will become and knowing what you cannot be.” She drew a ragged breath. “The simple truth of it is,” she said, “that one day, he will be king of Camelot – I will make sure of it. But I cannot be his queen.”

Gwen almost smiled at the familiarity of that, too. “I once thought the same of myself,” she said, meeting Gwenhwyfar’s eyes again. “But I was wrong. There is always hope.”

“Right,” Gwenhwyfar said, “so…you have no worries? No doubts?”

It was as a bucket of ice water being tipped right over her head. "I cannot truly claim that, no,” Gwen said quietly.  

“So you see,” Gwenhwyfar said, like they were in perfect understanding.

“So what will you do?” Gwen asked. “Stand by and watch him marry another?”

Gwenhwyfar shrugged. “I will fight beside him until he takes his rightful place upon the throne. If I die in the effort, then so be it. If not…peace will be my reward.”

Well, then. They were in perfect understanding after all.

“I don’t believe that,” Guenevere declared.

Looking towards her again, Gwenhwyfar’s mouth ticked up in the barest of smiles. Without any real heat behind it, she said, “I don’t care what you believe.”

Guenevere sighed. “Some from my world who have studied such things,” she began, “have said that for all the differences between us, all that which sets us apart, some things never change. That some lives…are always foretold only one way.” She shrugged. “I believe, that no matter the world, no matter our circumstances, we are always meant to be queens. We were born for it.”

Only someone of noble birth would say that, Gwen thought, just as Gwenhwyfar said aloud, “You were born for it, my lady.”

Guenevere’s expression softened. “Just because you were not born into it,” she said, “does not mean you were not born for it. And I know,” she went on before Gwenhwyfar could argue, “how much meaning your people put in each name they give their children. Do you really believe you were born only for sacrifice?”

She never received an answer. With finality, Gwenhwyfar only said, “The time for your questions is over.”

Gesturing towards the pitcher, she added, “But we will need more of this,” and pushed away from the table to move towards the refreshments Merlin had set to refill it. Gwen watched her go, frowning.

“Do not think I don’t understand her reticence.” Guenevere said. 

When Gwen blinked at her, she offered a faint smile. “It is a burden. To become what you were not taught to be. I’ve watched my husband struggle with it enough to know. I imagine – ” her tone turned more delicate – “that however well you hide it, you struggle with it, too. But it is a testament to your character – to your bravery, that you are not deterred by it.”

“Bravery?”

“It must have taken courage,” Guenevere told her, “to have lived your life.”

Gwen had no idea what to say. She needn’t have looked for anything either, because Guenevere had already gone on, pensive now. “The truth is, I look at you and I wonder about myself. Could I ever have been so brave,” she asked, “so as to be born one thing and boldly declare myself something else entirely?”

“I…I’m not sure it’s bold,” Gwen said.

“Well…it’s not complacent.” Guenevere raised her cup to her at that, a touch of something bittersweet in her gestures.

Gwenhwyfar returned just in time to help her wash it away with more wine. Gwen surmised she had lingered away from them for so long only to calm herself.

And think on fresh topics for them to discuss. “Did I ever tell you about the time I came to the battlefield riding a dragon?”

It was thrilling tale – of a five-front war, intrigue and some mystery, unlikely alliances and golden beasts setting the ground on fire as the soldiers cried for victory. But Gwen listened to it only sporadically, eyes on Guenevere more often than not.

She spoke of being complacent somehow, of lacking bravery, but her confidence was strong – unshakeable, even. And so, at watching her, Gwen’s wine-addled mind swam again, with images of the two thrones already set below, and the same unanswered question.

Did she belong here?

“You didn’t have to take me with you, you know. If you hate the sight of me so much.”

Arthur huffed. “And leave Merlin at your mercy?”

“I’m not sure you’ve spared him anything, really,” Dragoon said.

“Is my other self that insufferable?”

“That depends – does your Merlin like to talk?”

“Never shuts up.”

“Ah, he’ll be fine, then.” Dragoon picked up the ends of his robes to climb the staircase they had come upon, then gave the steep steps a disdainful look, muttering, “Bloody Morgana, you say one thing about her hair looking like a bird’s nest…”

Arthur pulled short. “What?”

Breathing heavily just two steps in, Dragoon turned to him with a wry look. “She enchanted me with an aging spell for a month. I don’t usually look like this, you know.”

 That was…curious. “What do you usually look like?”

“I’m terribly handsome.”

Arthur pressed his lips together. “Right.”

Dragoon resumed their ascent without another word. They made it to the end in silence, with only Dragoon’s mutterings and wheezing to break it, until Arthur couldn’t help but ask, “So, you and Morgana, in your world, are you…friends?”

“Yes,” Dragoon grumbled. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Arthur almost smiled. “So, she’s truly not an enemy of Camelot?”

“No. Not the Morgana I know.”

That had to be nice. “And uh, Camelot itself? Is it different where you’re from?”

“Quite.” Dragoon cast a look around. “Less dark and damp.”

“It’s nighttime!”

“Still.”

Arthur shook his head. “I meant the people, the court. From, um, what I understand,” he said quietly, “your Camelot has a princess now.”

A hint of a smile appeared beneath Dragoon’s beard. “Yes,” he said with affection. “She’s still very small, of course. Already looks just like her mother, though.” He chuckled. “The king says he’ll have a sword in her hand by the time she can walk. The queen thinks she should learn about politics instead.” There he paused, only to then turn to Arthur with the look of the most determined of men and declare, “I’ll teach her magic before Morgana does.”

Arthur’s chest tightened at the image of these four people, these strangers, speaking of magic of all things, as they crowded around this small child in its crib – and he had no idea why.

It must have shown on his face somehow, because Dragoon’s eyes bore into his now, a sort of understanding in them. “My advice, sire,” he said, “is that you do not think too long on what is and is not in other worlds. It makes you wonder too much. Your circumstances are what they are. Nothing I tell you changes that.”

“If you believe that,” Arthur said, a lump still in his throat, “then why do you accompany your king on his travels? From what Guenevere has said, he seeks to see other worlds, believes that doing so grants him some kind of knowledge.”

Dragoon sighed. “It is not what you learn, it is how you use it. If what he sees is a lesson in what to do or what not to, if it serves Camelot, then I am glad to accompany him on the journey. If it is just so he can risk his life because every Guenevere he meets reminds him of his wife…”

Arthur pursed his lips. “You didn’t have to agree to help. Neither did he. If you want to leave, leave. I can ensure Guinevere’s safety on my own.”

“Is that why you begged Gwenhwyfar to stay?”

Arthur scoffed. “Begged!”

“It sounded that way to me.”

“Well, maybe your hearing’s gone bad, old man.”

Dragoon wrinkled his nose. “Oh, that’s nice.”

Arthur sighed. “Sorry. I do appreciate the help you’ve all given me,” he said earnestly, “I just…” He rubbed his forehead. “Never thought this is how I’d be spending the days before my wedding, is all.”

“I understand that you worry,” Dragoon said. “How could I not? Everyone who has a heart understands love. Few can turn down a man who asks for something out of love. Even the likes of Gwenhwyfar.”

There it was again, that way in which he said her name. “You don’t like her?”

Dragoon’s mouth twisted like he’d swallowed something bitter. “She’s so…righteous.”

“Well – ”

“I mean, honestly! She flies in to the battlefield on a dragon once and suddenly, she’s better than everyone else!”

Arthur gaped.

“And alright, so she lands on top of a hill and then holds up her sword to be forged in the dragon’s breath for five different armies to see, but I mean, it was one time!”

Desperately trying not to laugh, Arthur said, “The way your king got his blade wasn’t nearly as impressive, was it?”

Dragoon threw his hands up. “Fished it out of a lake!” he despaired. “Only three people saw!”

Arthur pressed a fist to his mouth to stifle his laughter when Dragoon’s indignation grew so great that it gave him a fit, making him gargle and wheeze like a cat trying to cough up a fur ball.

“Oh, just you laugh,” he grumbled. “What means did you have to destroy this ghost again?”

Really now. “You know, I meant to ask,” Arthur said, “how is it that two different people from two different worlds can carry the exact same weapon?”

“You’ve just spent two days with three different versions of your future wife,” Dragoon deadpanned. “Nothing is one of a kind.”

“So it might exist here, too? Your Arthur said something about the lake of Avalon.”

“The lake of Avalon, a stone in a forest…the stomach of a magical cow.”

“What?”

“Don’t ask. The point is, yes, it might exist here,” Dragoon said. “It might be that it is yet to be forged. It might be that it never will. But even if it is to be found in this world, nothing guarantees you will be able to wield it.”

“There isn’t a sword I can’t wield.”

“It’s not just some sword any bumbling fool can take up!”

Arthur spluttered, “Bumb – bumbling – ”

“Do you suppose dragons just go around breathing on swords? No! Such a weapon is always made for a reason. And for a particular person. But then…” He sighed. “It is also true that it reflects their temperament. Say you have an open heart,” he proposed, “say you trust those around you, that you believe in the good of everyone – well then, just about anyone could take up your blade and have it do their bidding. Say however, that you are righteous, and narrow-minded, and believe only you know best – ”

They were back to that, then. “So what you’re saying is, I could maybe take up your king’s sword to destroy this ghost, but I could never do the same with Gwenhwyfar’s?”

“Tried to pick it up once, just to read the runes,” Dragoon said with distaste. “Flew right out of my hand.”

Arthur distinctly remembered Guinevere being able to hold it up without a problem, but decided against mentioning that. “Maybe there’s some wisdom in that.” He shrugged. “Keeps it from falling into the wrong hands.”

“Eh, maybe,” Dragoon admitted begrudgingly. “All I know is, there’s probably only one person in all the worlds who could wield her blade as his own, and that’s her beloved prince.”

“He is the only person I’ve heard speak about lovingly,” Arthur agreed. “He must be a great man if he’s managed to impress her.”

“He’s alright,” Dragoon said, then winced. “Would not want to be in his place now, though.”

Arthur nodded. “He must worry.”

“It’s more than that. They’re bound, you see,” Dragoon said, stopping to examine a wall, “she and him. It’s an ancient rite from their world. When she was taken from it, he must have felt the same way he would if she had died.”

Arthur swallowed. “That’s terrible.”

“It is,” Dragoon agreed absently, eyes narrowed. “Weapons hung here, didn’t they?”

Arthur twisted around Dragoon to look at the spot. Come to think of it… “Yes.”

He held his torch closer and ran his hand over the place where two swords and a shield used to hang, the stone now cracked, as if the nails had been torn right from it with force. “That’s strange.”

“Not really.”

He frowned, turning to Dragoon, who only stared at a spot over his shoulder. Arthur spun around to follow his line of sight, the torch casting a glow to the end of the hallway and catching the glint of steel. The shadows parted, and he froze in the spot.

“Father.”

Chapter Text

A goat herder.

He’d married her off to a goat herder!

The fates had conspired against her, given her a brother instead of a sister, and now he sat pretty on the throne while she was sent off to marry a goat herder.

Everything was goats with him. Goats, and sheep, and cows, and chickens. The man couldn’t talk about the strained relationships with the northern kingdoms without talking about how two of his black sheep had never gotten along with the rest. About levy routes without equating tax collection to putting your hand under a chicken to take its eggs every morning. Or about military strategy without comparing advancing soldiers to a herd of cows running down a hill with their bells on. She doubted he would manage to get through their wedding vows without likening her to a goat.

At least he was handsome. Though she would take a king with the face of a toad just for one chance at intelligent conversation.

But alas, it seemed she was doomed to only ever hear about how he had found the thief who had stolen his parents’ chickens by figuring out which dogs had barked the night of the theft. Because apparently different dogs barked at different people. A thrilling glimpse into the animal mind, really. Positively riveting.

Guenevere nearly wept for herself.

They strolled through the city now so that she may take in the sights of her new home. He hadn’t even offered her his arm to take.

“This spot is lovely,” he said, pausing by the parapet of the tallest tower of the castle and looking to the horizon. “You can see the whole kingdom from up here.”

Actually, it would take two days of riding at breakneck speed to cross the kingdom from border to border. So no, he could not see all of it from up here.

But she said, “It is beautiful, my lord.”

He cast her a sideways glance. “Is there really a need for such formality? You can just call me Arthur.”

“You are the king.”

His mouth twisted a little. “Right, but…I suppose I just…never imagined that when I got married, my wife would call me by my title instead of my name.”

She felt a pang of both sympathy and irritation. “It is a mark of respect.”

He cocked his head, a wan smile at the corner of his mouth. “I would take genuine dislike over feigned respect any day.”

“Feigned? I – I assure you – ”

“Come on,” he interrupted quietly. “I’m not actually an idiot. No one at court thinks I’m fit to be king. I don’t imagine you’d feel any differently.”

“I – ”

“The only one – ” he sighed – “who actually thinks I’m worth something is Merlin. I think. It’s hard to tell sometimes, he talks in riddles a lot. Then, there’s Morgana, but…I’m pretty sure it’s not so much that she likes me as it is that she’s just happy that my being here spares her from having to rule. Maybe Ygrai – my mother.” He shook his head, laughing under his breath. “I’m still not used to calling her that.”

He’s too honest, was Guenevere’s first thought. Thinking as the future queen, her second one was, naturally, that it would be her job to protect him from it.

“It must have been hard,” she said, “to learn the truth of your birth. I can’t imagine.”

He laughed outright now. “That’s one way to put it. There I was, just tending to the crops – ” as one did – “and then Merlin comes out of nowhere, says I’m the long-lost son of Uther Pendragon. Tells me the king is dead, drops to his knees in front of me and then it’s, ‘long live the king’. Thought he was one of the drunkards from the tavern, you know? Gone mad from the mead and all.”

Guenevere couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her, too. Arthur grinned.

“Not many kings can say that’s how they came to be one,” he said.

“Certainly the sort of thing that lives long in the minds of men,” she agreed.

He shrugged. “I’m not sure I care about that.”

Then why on Earth would a peasant boy want to be king, if not for the glory? “What do you care about?”

His eyes went back to the expanse that stretched below them, narrowed in thought. “I’ve had a sheltered life. I knew nothing of the world beyond my village, nothing of…life at court, of nobles and kings, only…only the struggles of the people. People like me, like my parents – ” He shook his head. “The ones who raised me anyway. They died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. Illness had swept through the village and they were too old and weak and fight it so…The point is, I thought many times that, if we’d just had a physician – ” he met her eyes again – “someone who knew how to make a remedy, or knew the healing spells we needed, then…it could have saved their lives. And so many others.”

“Could you not have appealed to the king for help?”

“Uther never really cared. We were too far away for him to be concerned. As long as we didn’t rebel against him, he couldn’t care less of how we got by.”

He had no particular love for his father, then.

“But then Merlin came and I thought,” he went on, “maybe, if I was king, I could change that. If I had the power to make these decisions, I could…arrange for physicians to be trained here. I could send a healer to live in every outlying village. I could make life better for the people.”

Guenevere stared, unable to look away from him – and idly noticed, for the first time, how beautiful his eyes truly were.

Well, then. It seemed she was to be married off to a very noble goat herder.

“Have you made any strides towards it?”

His smile was entirely self-depreciating. “Turns out your ideas are only as good as your knowledge of how to make them happen. Which…I do not have.” He sighed. “There’s too much else to be done, every day. My council thinks that it would take too many resources to put it in place, when there are much greater priorities. They know these things better than I do.”

They take advantage of his inexperience. “Whatever they know, you are the king. It is their duty to do as you say, not the other way around.”

“I’m not that good at telling people what to do.”

“If you can order a flock of sheep about, surely you can do it with a few men?”

He blinked.

Guenevere blushed, mortified. “I mean – I’m not saying that they – are like sheep – or that you – ”

“I don’t think me yelling and waving a stick about would get them to do what I want,” Arthur said, humor in his eyes.

“It – it might,” she said weakly.

He burst out laughing, throwing his head back and snorting. An entirely too unconstrained a display for a king, obviously, but the innocence of it was somehow endearing. Guenevere smiled.

“I’ll be sure to try that next time,” he said, grinning widely.

“I look forward to seeing it, my lord.”

“I just told you to call me Arthur – see, you won’t do what I say either!”

“Forgive me, my – Arthur.” She nodded. “Arthur.”

“That’s better.” He gave her a crooked grin. “Guenevere.”

Heat rose in her cheeks again, for entirely different reasons.

He had a good voice, she decided. Deep and strong, the sort of voice that could inspire armies and make his enemies cower, if he put it to such use. If he had the spine for it.

“I can see you have a good heart,” she said, “that you care for your people. But a good king knows when to show kindness and when to rule with a strong hand.”

He frowned. “I’m not sure I’m capable of that.”

Then you won’t last a year. The meagre hope that had built in her died just as quickly. She would marry a noble goat herder – one so noble, in fact, that a determined warlord would surely strike and dethrone him in a few months’ time. Lovely thing to look forward to.

“So, what about you?” he asked.

“What about me?”

“It can’t be easy for you either. To leave everything behind and come here. To leave your home.”

Her heart seized. “I always knew the day would come.”

“Does that really make it easier to bear when it does come?”

She looked away. In Cameliard, she had stood on top of towers such as this one, too, that offered a view of planes and pastures as far as the eye could see, meadows and fields of flowers in every imaginable color. Now she saw mostly round hills and snow-covered mountains, a disjointed landscape without harmony.

“Camelot is my home now,” she said. “And I am happy to be here.”

“Right,” he said. “But still, I…I wouldn’t want you to long for anything.” He shrugged awkwardly. “If you want to spend time in your kingdom, or visit your brother…you can do it as often as you like. I won’t…try and keep you here all the time.”

Maybe there was something to be said of his kindness after all. “That’s very sweet of you.”

“It’s the least I can offer,” he dismissed. “I mean, you ask a girl you’ve never met to come here and marry you, leave everything behind. It’s the decent thing to do, isn’t it?”

They had entirely different ways of seeing things. But it was clear he was just as aware as she of why she was here – at the behest of his council, no doubt. She was the daughter of a great ruler, from a most noble family. She was here to give the peasant king legitimacy.

Not the sort of thing he was used to, she imagined. “You hoped to marry for love, didn’t you?”

He simply returned it with, “Doesn’t everyone?”

Yes, she decided, entirely different ways of seeing things.

“I hope,” he started, then paused, fumbling. “I hope…we can at least be friends?”

She smiled. “Of course.”

Camelot was beautiful.

The windows of the hall stretched to the high ceiling, bathing the room in light. White flowers teased her senses from every corner, lining the floors and the window sills, twisting in the women’s hair and around the men’s wrists.

Her feet sank into the carpet as she walked down the aisle, plush, red, and streaked with golden threads. Against the white flowers and stone walls and marble thrones, the red and gold stood out in a burst of color, drawing her eye. She barely resisted the urge to look down, to trace the lines with her eyes rather than her toes - lines woven in to show great golden dragons breathing fire upon symbols and letters, each chosen to represent a name of the Pendragon dynasty, from the days of the Old Kings all the way to King Arthur’s time. The moment the crown was laid upon her head, her name would be marked down in gold, too.

Arthur stood out, too, a swirl of red, silver and gold against Merlin’s plain white ceremonial robes. The dazed look on his face made Guenevere bite back a smile.

When she stepped up to the altar, Merlin had to nudge him to get him to hold his hands out to her. They were big and warm as they wrapped around hers – and maybe a touch clammy.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today,” Merlin began the ceremony, a speech Guenevere knew so well by now that that she could guess its flow just by the inflections of Merlin’s voice. The words faded to noise in her ears as she stood facing Arthur, and resolutely stared at the tip of his nose.

All her life, she had known this moment would come. Where she would marry a man she hardly knew because it was best for her kingdom, for the land, for Albion. Yet her heart was just about to beat out of her chest. Here the moment was, and it wasn’t any easier to bear.

Maybe her future husband was wise after all.

“Do any say nay?”

Part of her wished someone would.

There was gentle pressure on her hands that made her look up, meeting Arthur’s eyes. In an act of subtlety she had not thought him capable of, he shook his head from side to side the faintest bit, mouthing, “You don’t have to.”

Oddly, it calmed her like a charm. She smiled in reassurance, and held his gaze as Merlin called for their wedding bands to be brought up.

Some of her trepidation returned when Arthur picked up his and made to begin his vows.

“Guene – my lady – ”

Off to a good start.

“My lady, I stand here today before the Gods, your king, and my people,” he began in earnest, “to ask you to take me as your husband, to promise that…my heart and soul are yours, from this day until the end of my days. I shall not forsake you for any wonders of this world. I shall not – uh – ”

“Forget you,” Merlin whispered.

“Forget you, no matter the time we spend apart. I shall never take from you what I cannot give you in return. I swear to you now, upon my honor, that I, Arthur, king of Camelot, son of…Uther of the house of Pendragon, um, shall…”

“Always cherish.”

“Always cherish you above all others, all my riches and my glory, until death parts us. And even when it has so done, may we meet again in the next world, and stay there together ever after. I am yours, my lady,” he said, “as I hope you will be mine.”

He slipped the band on her finger and held her hand up to his lips. His mouth was warm against her skin, his beard lightly scratching her knuckles. Her hand tingled when he drew back.

She avoided his gaze as she took hold of the second band.

“My lord, I stand here today before the Gods, my king, and your people,” she said, “to take you as my husband” – she swore Merlin sighed in relief – “as I long to be your wife, to promise you all that you have promised me. That my heart and soul are yours, from this day until the end of my days.

“I shall not forsake you for any wonders of this world. I shall not forget you no matter the time we spend apart. I shall never take from you what I cannot give you in return.”

She took a deep breath. “I swear to you now, upon my honor, that I, Guenevere, Princess of Cameliard, daughter of Thomas of the house of Leodogran, shall always cherish you above all others, all my riches and my glory, until death parts us. And even after it has so done, may we meet again in the next world, and stay there together ever after.

“I am yours, my lord,” she said, “as you are mine.”

She slipped the band on his finger as he had on hers, and took his hand in both of hers to bring it to her lips. His breath caught.

“Then by the power vested in me,” Merlin stated, “I pronounce you husband and wife.”

The enormity of the moment struck her just as Arthur leaned in to kiss her. His mouth was warm against her lips just as it had been against her hand, and left them tingling just the same.

With her heart beating fast again, she only had enough presence of mind to steer Arthur by their joined hands and have them face their cheering audience.

Merlin raised a hand and they stopped, so that she and Arthur may take their seats on the thrones. The marble was cool against her back and thighs, sharpening her mind.

A page put Arthur’s crown on his head without fanfare before Merlin slid up to her side, an altogether different crown in his hands. Guenevere looked on straight ahead.

“By the power vested in me,” Merlin said anew, “I crown you Guenevere, queen of Camelot.”

Her eyes fluttered shut as the crown came to rest upon her head, her heartbeats steady now. It wasn’t her father’s crown. But it was better than nothing.

“Long live the king!” Merlin declared.

“Long live the king!” echoed the others.

“And long live the queen!”

She opened her eyes to see it come out of every mouth in attendance. Elyan’s, Leon’s, the king’s mother’s – those of knights and courtiers she had yet to meet. To her ears, it sounded like a song.

Glancing to the side, she saw Arthur’s mouth form the words, too.

Guenevere sat in the bed, dressed in her finest night clothes and smelling like all her best soaps, just twiddling her thumbs. She had prepared for this, read all the books there were on lying with men, and women, and those who called themselves neither – and none of them had spoken of waiting for your husband for so long that you fell asleep out of boredom.

To keep a lady waiting thus was simply rude.

She would understand it if he’d had an urgent matter of state to attend to. But he wasn’t much of a king by his own admission, and his court was passed out drunk anyway. Perhaps he was passed out in a hallway somewhere, too.

Finally, he came into view just as she was about to give up and give in – appearing neither drunk nor worried for the fate of the kingdom.

He paused at the foot of the bed, scratching at the back of his head. “I’ll just…go change, yeah?” He gestured around vaguely and disappeared behind the screen.

Guenevere waited for a servant to materialize from somewhere and follow him, then realized that, of course, there would be none.

“Where is your servant?” she called from the bed. “He should assist you.”

“I can dress myself, thanks,” Arthur’s voice floated in from behind the screen.

Because he couldn’t see her, she rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “While that is…admirable, it is not only a matter of ability. You are the king. It is expected that a servant take care of needs such as this one. It is part of their job.”

He chuckled faintly. “And they do it very well. When I first came here – the first morning I woke up in these chambers,” he said, “there was a serving boy waiting. Didn’t really say a word, just started undressing me. So, naturally – ”

Oh, no.

“I drew my sword at him.”

Though exasperated, Guenevere could not help but smile at that image.

“I know it’s how it goes,” Arthur went on then, quietly, added, “I just wish someone had told me about it before I scared the boy to death.”

Despite it all, Guenevere rebelled at such treatment. “They should have told you,” she said. “They cannot expect you to know what you were never taught.” And neither should I.

Arthur emerged once more, dressed for sleep, the trace of a smile at the corner of his mouth. He looked rather handsome that way.

“It’s just as well,” he said, shrugging. “I won’t change my ways. I’m a grown man, I won’t have someone dress me like a child.”

“My maid dresses me every day, are you saying that I am a child?”

“That’s different,” he dismissed, “you’ve got more laces on your dresses than the Gods themselves could sort through. You need help.”

“So it’s a question of need?”

“Of course,” he said, like it was obvious. “What’s the point of wasted work?”

Hmm. “Do you think any work done in the service of the king can be wasted work?”

“I think it’s ridiculous to call it service, when all it is, is the king being too lazy to actually do the simplest things by himself.”

Why did she expect that this would turn into anything other than a roundabout insult to both her brother and late father?

But she would grant him that he was quick of wit – if not of body. He approached the bed with the speed of a snail, dragging his feet, settling under the covers far too slowly. And with the grace of an oaf.

He did nothing further either, just sat beside her and turned his head to look at her appraisingly. Assuming his sweet nature made him wait for an invitation by the way of well-bred lords, she leaned in to kiss him. She didn’t mind the feeling of his lips on hers again, nor the way his mouth opened slightly under hers, tasting of the wine they had drunk.

She ought to have learned to expect the unexpected from him by now, but when he kissed her back for barely more than a moment before pulling away with a frown, she was honestly surprised.

“Is something the matter?”

“Um…” He avoided her eyes. “You know, we’re both tired from the feast and the dancing and all that, maybe we should just get some sleep – ”

“Arthur, what is it?”

His twitching stopped. He sighed, settling back against the headboard. “I know we’re husband and wife now,” he said, “and that…this is just supposed to be normal and all, but…” He shook his head. “The truth is, we’re strangers.”

“This seems as good a way as any to get to know each other.”

He barked a laugh, short and loud. “By all means, speak from the heart, my lady.”

“I just meant – ”

“I know,” he assured. “And I understand that you see no wrong in this – I don’t suppose there is any, really. But I wasn’t taught this way. And you know, you were right before,” he added, quieter now. “I did hope to marry for love. That hasn’t happened, and now it won’t, but…” He held her gaze, his eyes soft and blue in the candlelight. “How can I go to bed with a girl when I’ve no idea if she even likes me, too?”

Possibly for the first time in her life, Guenevere was entirely at a loss for words. Her mind automatically scrambled for the best reassurances – saying that she did like him, that he had become her heart’s desire – but there was too much shame in lying to the honest, and tricking the unwilling that way, and so inarticulate sounds left her mouth instead, never forming any actual words.

Her books had never prepared her for this.

Arthur smiled benevolently. “There’s plenty of other rooms in the palace, if you’d like to sleep in one of them.”

“Ru – rumors,” she found her voice, tripping over the words. “It – it would – start – rumors.”

“Oh, alright then, then I can sleep on the floor – ”

“You’re the king!” she practically screeched.

His lips pressed together – was he trying not to laugh at her? “Then I suppose this bed will be big enough for the both of us,” he declared, and proceeded to slip further down said bed, lying on his back under the covers, an arm under his head and the other resting lightly against his stomach.

She had to look like a simpleton like this, just mutely blinking down at him.

He narrowed his eyes. “Do you plan to do that all night? It’s…disconcerting.”

“I’m – I – I don’t – wha – ” She closed her eyes, taking two deep, long breaths to calm herself before opening them again.

“Don’t be offended,” he asked, so quietly it tugged at her heart. “It’s not my intention to offend you. And it is no insult towards you.” His gaze wandered over her face. “You’re beautiful.”

Affection surged through her as she looked down on him, against all odds. He had such a gentle heart, Gods love him.

She pushed aside the things she had been taught now – that to be too gentle was to be weak, that such innocence was for children and elders and not kings –, to slide down the bed herself, turning on her side and propping a hand under her head.

So then, she was to spend her life with this sweet, simple boy, and die a maiden. Queens had had worse fates.

“Tell me something,” she said. “If you hoped so badly to marry for love someday, then why did you ask to marry me?”

One of his shoulders slid against the pillow in a small shrug. “The council said that an alliance between Camelot and Cameliard would benefit us all.”

“That is true.”

“I hope so,” he said. “Because I can’t really tell what is best and what isn’t. I only ever do as they tell me.”

She sighed. “You should be careful who you say that to,” she cautioned softly. “You can’t trust everyone’s intentions.”

Eyes unwaveringly on hers, he asked, “I can trust you, can’t I?”

She smiled. “Yes. It is my duty to be your council.”

“You’ll fit right in with the rest of them, then.”

“No.”

He blinked.

“I am your council,” she stressed. “For better or for worse, Arthur, you are the king. You must set your own rules. Forget everyone else, you must follow what you believe is right.”

The moment seemed to call for it somehow, so she leaned in closer, and laid a hand over his heart. “You told me that you accepted your crown because you believed you could change things. That you could serve your people better than the old king. That is what you must do, not what your council wants.”

He swallowed, uncertainty in his eyes. “I don’t know how,” he said. “I want to, I just…I’ve no idea how. I don’t know how to think like a king.”

Then her purpose was clear. “I’ll teach you.”

His frown cleared slowly, giving way to a smile. “Thank you.”

She hummed softly, withdrawing her hand. He lapsed into his stories again soon after, of his village and of Camelot, of the knights he’d met and befriended – of his ceremonial sword slipping from his sweaty hand the first time he’d had to knight a new one. Sir Lancelot, at least, had been very courteous about it.

But it was talking of Morgana’s work that seemed to drive him the most, a sort of boyish excitement in his voice as he talked about it. Inscribing different worlds on maps of the universe, reaching into the unseen to reveal the paths that bind them – pushing the laws of magic to the point that you could travel between them. “Can you imagine,” he’d say, “meeting others exactly like yourself? Imagine what we could learn from them.”

Guenevere sunk back into the pillows, listening. It wore on into the night, in the peace of their chambers, her eyelids drooping under the sounds of his voice. She smiled at the endless possibilities, and fell asleep to her new husband’s bedtime stories of adventures, and doubles, and curiosities.

Chapter Text

It happened so fast.

One moment, he was staring into the face of his father, ghostly and pale, a sword hanging from each hand. The next, his double was running at them from the opposite end of the hallway, wielding his own sword, striking down against his father’s.

“What sort of an abomination are you?” his father spat.

“Oh, I am not the abomination here,” was the reply he received.

Arthur could see Merlin behind them, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, tracking the swipes and strikes of the three blades. Arthur watched, too, almost mesmerized by the patterns his father’s swords drew. He remembered the one that Gwenhwyfar had fought, and finally knew why the way it moved had seemed so familiar.

His father. His father was trying to kill Guinevere. But –

One blade was knocked out of his father’s hold, then the other, and then his double raised his own to deliver the final blow.

The tip of it slicing the air finally propelled Arthur forward, drawing his own sword. “No!”

“Wait!” Dragoon tried to stop him, and Merlin yelled, “Arthur, no!” but he ran anyway, and stopped his double before he could strike Father.

They swords clashed and for a heartbeat, everything stood still, as he stared into his double’s wide, uncomprehending eyes.

The moment passed, and he pushed Arthur back. “What is the matter with you?”

Arthur didn’t answer him, spinning around frantically.

His father was gone.

“Uther?” Guenevere asked. “Are you sure?”

Merlin looked away. Beside him, he heard Gwen’s breathing quicken.

Arthur sighed. “Yes,” he said. “The ghost is my father.”

Gwenhwyfar had gone eerily quiet, and eerily still, since they’d first told the news, not unlike Dragoon. Guenevere rubbed her lips together now, fingers curling around the armrests.

Her husband stood behind her, arms crossed. “And the only reason he’s still a threat,” he spoke, “is you. I had him. If you hadn’t stopped me, this would have been over by now.”

Arthur’s back stiffened. “I don’t believe this is all there is to it.”

“Oh, come on – ”

“It makes no sense, why would my father attack Guinevere? It must be Morgana’s influence, she’s making him do this somehow – ”

“You can’t enchant a ghost!”

Arthur clenched his fists. “Why are you so eager to condemn him? He’s your father, too.”

“He is a curse upon this world!” his double burst out. “As he was on mine, and Gwenhwyfar’s, and everyone else’s!”

It silenced even the crackling of the fire in the fireplace. Merlin flinched from the force of it, gulping.

Arthur was gearing for a retort judging by the set of his shoulders, but Guenevere spoke first. “Perhaps things are not so simple. Maybe Uther was different here,” she cautioned softly – and, in Merlin’s opinion, didn’t believe a word of it. It was merely a way to make her husband remember the diplomacy he lacked, and he said nothing further. He did continue to glare, though.

Then Gwenhwyfar said, “Take me home.”

Merlin shook his head desperately. 'Gwen still needs you. Please.'

“Now, Emrys.”

He swallowed.

The only thing that saved him was Dragoon’s head snapping in her direction at hearing the name, too. He gave a measured nod. “As you wish.”

“Your desire to help ends here?” Arthur asked quietly.

“You ask for my help, and now you won’t take it,” she said, striving to sound hard and only managing to sound upset, “so I will not stay here and listen to you defend the man who killed my brother.”

Gwen’s eyes snapped shut.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said.

'If Uther was as terrible in your world as he was here,' Merlin tried to plead again, 'then Gwen is in more danger than ever. It’s all the more reason to – '

'One more word and I will expose you to everyone here, do you understand?'

He understood perfectly. His heart beat a mile a minute but he squared his shoulders, and barreled on. 'No, you won’t. You won’t risk my life that way. Like you couldn’t let Guenevere risk Gwen’s.'

Her scowl faltered. Arthur was talking again, arguing with his double while Guenevere tried to restore peace, but Merlin ignored them and held Gwenhwyfar’s gaze. 'You have a good heart. I know you won’t abandon Gwen now.'

She said nothing, not aloud and not in his mind, but didn’t move to force Dragoon to take her home either. Merlin counted it as a victory.

In the noise the others were making, he turned to Gwen, and touched a hand to her arm in comfort. When he met her eyes, they shone with fear.

Arthur led her by the hand, through the corridor that separated her chambers from his, away from the others, leaving Merlin to deal with their grievances and Gwenhwyfar’s change of heart. He kicked the side door shut behind them, his fingers slipping away from under hers as he went to fetch himself some water. Gwen stayed right where he left her.

It had been on her mind from the moment she had heard Uther’s name. Arthur probably didn’t want to hear it, and she wasn’t so eager to broach it either, but now, it truly needed to be said.

“Arthur, if something happens to me – ”

He swiveled around to her, goblet halfway up to his mouth. “Guinevere – ”

“I want you just to know,” she went on – if she didn’t, she’d probably lose her nerve, “that…I wouldn’t want you to be lonely. Or alone.” Sighing softly, she added, “I hope…you could find someone else to have by your side. Truly. Because you will be a great king. With or without me.”

Arthur sighed in kind, stepping back towards her. He held her gaze, confident, and said, “Nothing is going to happen to you.”

“You can’t tell me that the ghost being your father changes nothing.”

He rubbed his lips. “All it does,” he said, “is prove Morgana’s cruelty.”

Or her ingenuity. “You truly believe she’s making him do this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he said. “My father has no reason to want to harm you.”

A short, flat, 'really?' was right at the tip of her tongue, but instead Gwen said, “It would not be the first time he has wanted to.”

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. “That’s different. That was…before. He thought you had enchanted me! But things have changed,” he argued. “He must know how much I love you. What you mean to me. He wouldn’t do this.”

She sighed.

“Guinevere, he wouldn’t,” Arthur insisted, more agitated now. “He wouldn’t do it to me. He wouldn’t take you from me the way my mother was taken from him.”

Her chest tightened. The flaw in his reasoning, of course, was assuming that Uther had ever had such a big heart. But his eyes were earnest and beseeching, pleading with her to believe it, so she held her tongue and looked away.

“Besides,” Arthur added when she didn’t speak, “do you really think my father would do Morgana’s bidding, of all people?”

Gwen took a deep breath, dragged her eyes back to his, and simply said, “Common enemies make for very good friends.”

“You’re not his enemy,” Arthur protested. “You took care of him when he was ill! He knows you have a good heart.”

“Forgive me,” she said, “but only you would think your father capable of such kindness.” She doubted Uther even remembered she had done that.

Arthur only stared at her for a moment, then hung his head. “She’s making him do this, Guinevere. I know it.”

“You heard what the others said,” she reminded quietly, “you can’t enchant a ghost.”

“Then she lied to him!” Arthur paced away from her then back, then away, then back again. “He believed you had enchanted me once before, maybe she’s made him believe the same now! Who knows what she’s told him?” He stopped, releasing a ragged breath. “I just have to make him see reason.”

Gwen vividly remembered him trying to do just that once before, and Uther only ever twisting everything he said as further evidence against her, further reason to burn her at the stake. She held out little hope for the present.

Arthur was waiting for her to say something. When she didn’t, he took it upon himself. “We’ll sort this out,” he promised. “You’ll see.”

In truth, she realized, it was Arthur who could not see reason at the moment. So she let it be, and only nodded to acknowledge him as the urge to flee came over her. She never felt safer than with Arthur – be it from bandits, soldiers or dragons – never, except now. Now, she wished for the presence of those who mistrusted Uther as much as she did.

“I should return to the others.” She smoothed her hands down her skirts, turning to leave. “I dread to think what they’ve put Merlin through by now.”

“Guinevere,” Arthur tried calling after her but she didn’t stop.

“I will see you later.”

“Are you alright?”

Merlin came to sit in the chair beside Gwen's, sympathy in his eyes. There had been a lot less bloodshed in the room than she’d expected to find when she returned. Guenevere and her Arthur stood in a corner, holding hands and talking in whispers, while Gwenhwyfar and Dragoon stood at each other’s side by the window in complete and utter silence. They still shifted and sighed under their breaths as if reacting to words that weren’t spoken every now and again, and so Gwen surmised that their silence was not all that it seemed.

She turned to Merlin, offering him the best smile she could muster. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

He knew her too well to believe it. “What happened?”

She fiddled with the end of the chain that hung around her waist, wringing it this way and that in her lap. “Arthur believes that Morgana’s talked Uther into this, somehow.”

“Right,” Merlin said. At least he didn’t believe it any more than she did.

She took a deep breath. “Merlin, if something happens to me – ”

“Nothing,” he interrupted, “is going to happen to you.”

“But if it does – ”

“Gwen – ”

“Merlin.”

He pressed his lips together reluctantly.

“If it does,” Gwen said, “you will take care of him.”

Merlin sighed. “Of course,” he said, “but nothing is going to happen, so this is a moot point anyway.”

“I think you and I both know that no one’s had to talk Uther into anything,” she said quietly, “and that he will not stop until…” She sighed deeply, then just shrugged. “I am dead.”

“You can’t think like that.” Merlin covered her hand with his. “Arthur won’t let anyone harm you.”

“Arthur thinks he can reason with Uther about this.”

“Look, Gwen, it’s – Uther’s his father,” Merlin said. “It’s hard for him to accept this. He loved him.”

“I know that.”

“He’ll see the truth eventually. It just…might take a moment. But that doesn’t mean,” he added with certainty, “that he will do anything that puts you in danger. He wouldn’t risk you for the world, Gwen.”

Her smile was genuine this time.

Merlin patted her hand, smiling in kind. “And you know what Gwenhwyfar said. As long as you’re within the protective circle she made, Uther can’t get to you. You’re also under the protection of two very fine warriors.” He glanced around the chambers. “So don’t worry so much. This will be over soon, and you – ” he grinned – “will be queen.”

She looked around, too. From the sword resting at Arthur’s double’s hip as he talked to Guenevere to the one strapped to Gwenhwyfar’s back – from the girl who always knew she would be queen to the one who knew she could never be one. So which one am I?

“What is it?” Merlin prompted softly.

She made to put it into words but nothing came out, so she just shrugged helplessly.

“You haven’t…changed your mind, have you?” Merlin asked cautiously. “Because of Uther? You still want to be queen?”

“I haven’t, no,” she said, swallowing. “But…”

“What?”

“The others, they…believe in things such as destiny and fate. That some things are meant to be.” She met Merlin's eyes once more. “What if what I want, isn’t what’s meant to be?”

Merlin’s eyes softened. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Merlin…”

“No, listen…” He held her hand. “Morgana and Uther are wrong. Whatever they hold against you, they are wrong. You are meant to be queen, Gwen. And I believe that,” he said. “As surely as I believe in Arthur.”

It wasn’t they who made her doubt it. But she couldn’t have hoped to receive a greater showing of faith than that. “Thank you, Merlin.”

He smiled again, in that cheerful way of his, and she did feel just a little bit better.

“Poppycock!” Dragoon suddenly exclaimed to no one in particular, and she jumped in her seat. Merlin blinked while Arthur and Guenevere raised their eyebrows. Gwenhwyfar merely rolled her eyes.

She had barely done so before she went still. She reminded Gwen of a cat, its ears perking towards things only it could yet hear. The next moment, she drew her sword.

“Get behind me!” she ordered Gwen amidst the clattering of hers and Merlin’s chairs, pulling her by the hand.

Arthur mirrored her actions, sword in one hand and Guenevere safely pushed behind him with the other. “What is it?”

Gwenhwyfar held on to her blade with both hands, eyes roaming the place. “He’s here.”

The ends of Guinevere’s skirts disappeared through the door and Arthur sighed in the silence left behind. He circled back to his desk, emptied his goblet, wished for something stronger, and braced against the wood.

Of course he understood why she was so wary. But he was right, if only just this once. All he had to do was prove it.

He needed to speak to his father.

He looked over his shoulder, eyeing the main doors. Light from the hallway seeped in beneath them, making the fine line of powder spread along the threshold glow faintly. Arthur pushed himself away from the desk. He came to stand just at the edge, his foot hovering just above the protective circle. He hesitated for a moment, then disturbed it just so with the tip of his boot, and held his breath as he waited.

Nothing happened.

He expelled the breath noisily, and scoffed at himself. Shaking his head, he retreated back to his earlier spot, letting his eyes drift shut.

“Arthur.”

He spun around so fast he knocked over an inkwell.

“Father.”

There were no swords hanging from his hands now, but he was still just as Arthur had seen him in the hallway. So pale, his skin was nearly white, made all the worse by the black clothes and cloak he wore – a cloak that seemed to billow slightly in a breeze that wasn’t there, just as his voice seemed to echo faintly against walls that didn’t exist. But for all that, it was still Uther, still his father, still the one person he had missed every day since he had become king. He wondered if he could hug him, if he was real enough for him to try it.

Tears gathered in his eyes but he smiled, hoping to see the same reflected in his father’s expression.

But his face was set in stone.

Right. Arthur ran a hand over his mouth. “Father, I,” his voice cracked a little, “I don’t know what Morgana has told you, but Guinevere – ” he shook his head – “has done nothing wrong.”

“No,” his father agreed, and Arthur nearly breathed in relief, before he followed it with, “It is you who have done everything wrong.”

Arthur froze, his breath catching. “Father – ”

“It is bad enough, that when you are meant to strengthen Camelot’s army, you choose to knight commoners. Now, you have done worse. Your marriage was supposed to serve Camelot, to secure an alliance with another kingdom. Instead,” his father accused, “you choose to marry a serving girl.”

No…

“I have spent my life building my legacy, I will not have my own son destroy it.”

The tears spilled over, running hot down his cheeks. “No, you – ” Arthur struggled to breathe. “You don’t mean that.”

“I take no pleasure in it,” his father said, “but you have brought this on yourself. I am only here to correct your mistakes, Arthur.”

Correct his – what sort of – “Are you listening to yourself?” Arthur snapped. He couldn’t believe that this was it, that he had finally seen his father again just to hear this – to have to speak of this. “You’re talking about killing a woman! An innocent woman – the woman that I love!”

“You are the king,” his father scolded, “there are more important things than your love. Morgana understands that.”

“Morgana – what – ” Arthur said weakly, falling back against the desk for support. “She never had to talk you into anything, did she?”

It all fell into place suddenly, like an illusion washing away, and he saw his father for everything he didn’t want to remember him as. “You would take her side over mine? After everything she has done? She betrayed you! She betrayed Camelot!”

Something flickered in his father’s expression. “So imagine my disappointment,” he said, “when she understands what it means to rule better than you ever have.”

Arthur felt the blow as if it had been dealt by the sharpest of swords. Fresh tears fell but he wiped them away furiously, shaking his head. “How can you do this to me?” he demanded. “When you know exactly how it feels! Mother was taken from you the same way!”

“Do not,” his father was incensed, “compare your mother to that servant.”

“Guinevere,” Arthur defied, “will be every bit the queen that Mother was.”

“How can a serving girl possibly understand what it means to be queen?”

“She is wise, and strong,” Arthur said proudly, “and I trust her more than anyone.” And she was right about you.

“I once thought that she had enchanted you, but now I realize it is much worse than that. Do you not see how much your feelings for this girl cloud your judgement?” his father asked – like Arthur was the unreasonable one here. “You risk everything for no one! You expose your weaknesses to your enemies, you jeopardize the very future of Camelot – you consort with sorcerers!”

Arthur took the beating silently, bile rising in his throat. Uncertainty filled him all at once – up was down and east was west, and he couldn’t tell if everything he’d ever done right was actually wrong.

“I will not let you destroy both our legacies because you can’t tell your heart from your head,” his father never relented. “One day, you will thank me.”

“Thank – !”

“When you have found your true match, and she sits at your side as Camelot’s rightful queen.”

“No,” Arthur denied firmly.

Just like that, everything was perfectly right side up again.

“There is only…one rightful queen of Camelot," he said. "And it’s not Morgana, whatever she may think. And it wasn’t - ” he gestured vaguely around - “Elena, or – whatever other princess you would have me marry. It’s Guinevere.”

It was only ever Guinevere. And for as long as Camelot was his, it could only ever be Guinevere. 

“The people love her,” he said, “and the knights respect her, and this whole kingdom…” He shook his head. “Without her, it’s worth nothing to me.”

His father said nothing in return but his face twisted, like he had never been more sure of Arthur’s weakness. Yet Arthur had never been more convinced of anything either. He may never be a great king, but Guinevere – Guinevere would be a great queen.

“Please, Father,” he still begged. “Leave her be. Just…just leave her be.”

His father’s face was inscrutable. In the end, he only said, “You leave me no choice.”

“No, wait – Father – ”

He was already gone.

The side door swayed on its hinges, disturbing the powder beneath it – the two lines of it, perfectly in parallel, drawing a safe path through the corridor between his chambers and Guinevere’s, extending the circle of protection. Except now his father was within it, too.

Arthur knocked over half the desk as he ran for the door.

Chapter Text

Uther swept through the room with an axe.

Gwenhwyfar was muttering about it being impossible – that he had broken through, that there was a way through her protections – while Gwen clung to her out of fear.

Once, she had felt sorry for Uther – to see him as he had been, pitiful and broken. He was hardly such a sad sight now. Death had restored him.

Dragoon pulled Guenevere behind him, then raised his hand as if in defense. Arthur charged Uther first, sword grinding against the metal of the axe.

“I only want the girl,” Uther said, in a voice that sent chills down Gwen’s spine. “You needn’t risk your life trying to defeat me.”

He swung the axe at Arthur’s head. Arthur ducked.

“I only want you banished from existence,” he retorted, “you needn’t make it this easy for me.”

His next strike nearly caught Uther right in the heart.

But he avoided it with a speed that defied the senses – and then it was furniture flying right at Arthur’s head. He lunged to the side to avoid it, hitting the ground with an echoing thud as a chair smashed against the wall.

Guenevere cried out, drawing Uther’s attention. His eyes snapped from her to Gwen, narrowed, before he seemed to decide that his target was the first of them.

Dragoon’s voice thundered through the room in a strange tongue, his eyes flashing like they were on fire and Uther stopped, as if held back by an invisible force. Gwenhwyfar took her chance and ran to strike him from behind – only to be deterred by a vase that flew and smashed against her head.

It wasn’t just the vase either – splintered wood, as big and sharp as spears, tapestries, and ornaments, all gathered as if caught in a whirlwind, bringing a mighty wind into the closed space. Gwen had never been more frightened in her life, just standing there in the middle of it, while Gwenhwyfar and Arthur groaned upon the ground.

Uther sent a shard of glass the size of a plate straight at Dragoon’s throat, which moved with a new enchantment to shatter it – though it must have broken whatever he had used to keep Uther at bay, because now he advanced again.

“No!” Gwen screamed. “It’s me you want!”

Everything stopped as Uther whirled on her. There was no pity, no regret in his expression, only determination. He was in front of her in the blink of an eye, and though Gwen wanted to draw back, to run, she was frozen in place, watching the axe rise in the air while her heart beat so fast it stole the breath right out of her lungs.

“No!”

Arthur - her Arthur, came out of nowhere, running across the room. He had no sword, no weapon for protection, but he still threw himself in front of her like a shield.

Gwen gasped, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she tried to make herself as small as possible behind his back. She could not see his face, but she saw Uther’s, the way it twisted and his eyes narrowed.

The axe still hung in the air like an executioner’s, and for a moment, Gwen truly believed it would come down – even upon Arthur.

Gwenhwyfar came roaring from behind and it fell to the floor as Uther disappeared –  blowing the doors wide open and leaving her sword to cut at nothing but air. Her eyes burned with rage in the split-second Gwen met them before all she could see was Arthur, spinning around to face her.

She had never seen this look in his eyes, never seen him look so worried, so frightened, his gaze sweeping over her frantically, as if inspecting her for injuries.

“Gwenhwyfar, no!” Merlin yelled before Arthur could open his mouth to speak, and Gwen's head snapped to the side just in time for her to see Gwenhwyfar disappear through the doors, too.

Right into the castle.

Arthur cursed under his breath, and only gave her hand a quick squeeze before taking off in a run, Merlin at his heels. She almost screamed after them to get weapons.

“Ah, hell.” Guenevere’s Arthur was picking himself off the ground, too, rubbing at his head. Guenevere was at his side immediately, making her way around Dragoon.

“Are you alright?” Her hand immediately came up to delicately brush over the spot where he had hit his head.

He gave a reassuring nod, before his eyes slipped to the doors, then Dragoon, then back to his wife. The next moment, he was thrusting his sword into her hands. Under different circumstances, Gwen could have laughed at the expression that crossed her face.

“What are you doing?” Guenevere asked.

“Stay here,” Arthur said. “If he comes back, use it.”

“But I – ”

“It’s alright.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Hold and strike, just like I taught you.”

A short-lived, tremulous smile passed her lips before Arthur kissed her soundly, and backed away.

“You – ” he pointed at Dragoon, walking backwards – “stay with them. Don’t be frightened, my love,” he added as he picked up the axe and headed for the doors. Just before they shut behind him, Gwen saw him mouth a reassurance to her, too.

There was complete silence after he left. Gwen stared mutely at the others – Guenevere, holding the blade awkwardly in her hands, and Dragoon, face set in stone – then at the mess in the chambers, glass and flowers upon the ground, chairs strewn about and ornaments hanging haphazardly on the walls.

When Dragoon spoke, she nearly jumped out of her own skin. “We should restore the protective circle.”

He moved to do it before she could respond. It was only when she watched him crouch with a hiss that she snapped out of it, going over to help.

“Why bother?” she asked quietly, scooping the scattered powder in her hands. It was more dust and dirt than salt and lavender now. “It doesn’t seem to keep him out anymore.”

Dragoon gave her a sidelong glance. “I’m sorry this has happened,” he said after a moment. “It must be an ordeal for you.”

Gwen looked over to him, where he knelt next to her. She had never been this close to him before – to either version of him – but now, she could look right into his eyes, and she swore she knew them. That they were somehow those of a friend.

She dismissed the thought and weakly joked, “I could think of better ways to spend the days before my wedding.”

It earned her a little smile.

The rustling behind them signaled that Guenevere had settled into one of the chairs left standing, the sword placed neatly across her knees.

“Are you alright, my lady?” Dragoon asked over his shoulder.

“Oh, I’m fine,” she said. In Gwen’s opinion, she rather looked like she was about to be sick. But those were the same thing in times like these, she supposed.

A noise came from the hallway and Gwen was immediately on alert.

“Do you worry someone heard the fight?” Dragoon asked.

She sighed. “Yes, that, too,” she said. “I worry about the others. What if Uther harms them?”

“I think they will be fine.”

“What if they are seen?”

“I can erase the people’s memories again,” he proposed. She gave him a sharp look. “Or not.”

“Arthur will never allow it.”

“Would you?”

Gwen swallowed. It was a question she had avoided thinking about since the start. Her father had once unwittingly invited sorcery into his life and it had caused his death. Morgana had embraced it fully and it had corrupted her beyond recognition. The truth was, sorcery was the most dangerous thing she knew.

Arthur walked a fine line now, allowing it to save her life, and if that meant he transgressed in some way, then she was complicit in it. Hell, she had just seen it wielded and she knew that Arthur – or she – would never wish to make Dragoon face the consequences. But to openly condone it…

“I don’t think so.”

Dragoon was silent for a moment, an inscrutable look in his eyes. “There is no evil in sorcery, Guinevere,” he said eventually. “Only in the hearts of men.”

Perhaps that was true, too. Arthur had certainly thought so, once. Dragoon, with his willingness to help even in these circumstances, could certainly make her want to believe it. And if all the magic of all the worlds was the same…then perhaps so were those who practiced it.

She helped Dragoon back to his feet with a hand under his arm, smiling faintly when he groaned, then frowning with worry when his back cracked as loudly as a drum.

“Do not fret,” he dismissed. “That happens.”

She did not think that was normal in any way but then again – sorcerers.

“You should check the state of the protections in the king’s chambers,” Guenevere spoke again, and Gwen thought there might have been some sort look that was exchanged between her and Dragoon.

“I do not think Uther attacked Arthur first.” Even as she said it, Gwen definitely caught the look that passed between the others now. “What is it?”

Guenevere’s expression grew more guarded, her lips pursed as if she were holding back a sigh. A person who hated being the bearer of bad news, if Gwen had ever seen one.

“You were right to wonder about the protections’ effectiveness,” she said, “but M – Dragoon is also right when he says they must be restored. The truth is, Uther could not have broken through it on his own.”

“He is of the spirit world,” Dragoon explained. “He is not made of the same substance we are. It is precisely that which he is made of that this powder repels. Yet neither he, nor anyone else, can change what makes him.”

“So, what are you saying?”

Guenevere sighed. “If he broke through, it must be because Arthur let him in.”

Gwen shook her head. “No, why would Arthur do such a thing? He – ” He thought he could reason with Uther.

The words died in Gwen’s throat as she pressed her lips together – then avoided the others’ eyes when their gazes became just a little too pitying.

“I shall go restore the powder in the king’s chambers as well,” Dragoon declared after a moment.

As he left, Gwen decided the best thing to do was to keep busy so she set to cleaning up, starting by gathering the broken glass in her hands.

“I’m sure he only acted without thinking,” Guenevere spoke.

“I’m sure,” Gwen agreed.

Wisely, Guenevere said nothing further.

Merlin ran after Arthur who ran after Gwenhwyfar, knocking out the guards the ruckus summoned with his magic where Arthur could not see.

It would surely spread that an attack had happened soon, but Merlin couldn’t think about that – not when he chased apparitions down one corridor only to hear Gwenhwyfar clash swords with Uther two flights below them, running around the castle like a headless chicken with an equally disoriented king.

The struggle finally led them to the throne room. He and Arthur rushed through the door in time to see Gwenhwyfar wipe blood off her lip and leap in the air, the tip of her blade sinking into the ground when Uther avoided it faster than any of them could blink.

He was no less a formidable foe for holding no weapons now, either. He managed to defy Gwenhwyfar, making objects speed across the room to harm her – or tossing her across it when he saw his chance.

Gwenhwyfar’s back hit one of the pillars, and as she fell down, a bench rose at Uther’s command, only to be splintered in half by the axe that whizzed through the air. Arthur’s double had come through one of the side doors, then, bare-handed, ran at Uther, in what was probably the most reckless move Merlin had ever seen – perhaps only closely matched in recklessness by Arthur doing the same thing and Merlin following after him on instinct.

All three were thrown back with the same force, and Merlin crashed against the wall before crumbling to the ground.

He managed to scramble on all fours, rubbing his aching head, in time to see that, of them all, Gwenhwyfar was the only one who was back on her feet, still swinging.

Her sword met Uther’s axe in the middle of the throne room, and her war cries gave it the air of a battlefield. The light of the full moon streaming through the windows made the sight even more surreal – Gwenhwyfar, again and again, striking against a dead man.

Merlin tried to summon his strength and raised a shaking hand in the air, a sloppy incantation at the tip of his tongue.

Uther was thrown back, as if hit by some immeasurable force that blew the drapes and flags and shook the windowpanes as it took him. He disappeared in a gust of wind, and Merlin would have congratulated himself on his power – except he hadn’t done anything.

A man strode through the doors, shrouded in black, hand still striking out as his eyes glowed golden under his hood.

Gwenhwyfar let out a great cry, her sword clattering to the ground. She ran, to throw her arms around the man’s neck. He embraced her with equal force, strong enough that only her toes still touched the ground.

She took his face in her hands, laughing breathlessly, the moonlight coming down to shine on the awe and affection in her eyes. It illuminated the features of the man’s face, too, as his hood fell back, and Merlin felt as though he had hit his head against another wall.

Arthur.

Chapter Text

Regular Arthur, Bearded Arthur and Magical Arthur walk into a tavern, Merlin thought nonsensically, ungainly picking himself off the ground.

Magical Arthur only spared a moment to go over them all before his eyes went back to Gwenhwyfar, taking her in. He still had an arm around her, his free hand gingerly touching the places where she was hurt. From what he could glimpse of his profile, Merlin thought he had the air of a tortured man about him, that only slowly eased the longer he looked on her.

Guenevere’s Arthur was back on his feet, too, armor clanking softly in the quiet room as he rubbed at his wrist. “Good to see you again, too, Prince,” he said.

Arthur promptly gasped, eyes snapping to Gwenhwyfar. “You said he was nothing like me!”

Merlin blinked. That was what was important here?

Gwenhwyfar seemed a little taken aback herself. “I – I suppose he is a bit like you, yeah.”

By the looks of it, Arthur would probably never manage to pick his jaw off the floor again, and honestly, Merlin wasn’t faring much better either.

“You have magic,” he said weakly.

It got the man to look at him at least. “I was born with it.”

Merlin stopped breathing.

Gwenhwyfar made to speak but a new voice reached them, and Merlin nearly fell right back down out of shock alone.

“There you are!”

A new figure stood at the threshold to the throne room, as shrouded in blackness as the last – except now it was his own face that Merlin stared into.

His double came in with force – and Gwenhwyfar broke into a smile –, a shortsword in each hand, the sleeves of his black tunic pushed up to the elbows to reveal an intricate string of markings that weaved up his arms. Merlin thought he recognized a triskelion and a dragon’s tail before he was promptly distracted by his double flicking his swords with practiced ease and sheathing them in the crossed scabbards at his back. He looked over the rest of them, raising an eyebrow at the expressions on their faces.

“I am Em – ” he began but stopped abruptly, head whipping in Gwenhwyfar’s direction. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I am Merlin.”

He was not.

A fact that was confirmed when Merlin heard his own voice in his head. 'Have no fear, I will keep your secret,' it said. 'But honestly, what sort of a name is Merlin?'

Merlin really couldn’t say.

Arthur looked like he might never recover either.

In the silence they created, Gwenhwyfar finally spoke, looking between their newest guests. “I don’t understand,” she said, “what are you doing here?”

“We came for you,” they answered as one, like it was obvious.

She smiled tenderly, shaking her head. “I meant, how?”

The answer to that was evidently for her ears only – or her mind. Or so Merlin assumed, at least, from the poignant looks she shared with – Emrys and her Arthur, not a word passing between them.

Commotion from outside disturbed the stillness, knights’ voices echoing in the halls, and Arthur finally snapped out of it, springing into action.

“Get them out of here,” he told Merlin, “I’ll take care of the knights.”

The last few days may just have made Gwen immune to surprises.

For when Merlin came back and said that he had brought with him yet a new Merlin, and yet a new Arthur – “Oh, and this one has magic, too.” –, and placed them in the king’s quarters, she could merely shrug and say, “Alright.”

“I’ll take care of this,” he told her when she only continued with her task of righting chairs. Guenevere and Dragoon were already gone. “You should see to the others.”

Gwen took a deep breath, smoothing down her skirts. “Where is Arthur?”

By the look on his face, Merlin probably wanted to quip back with a, “which one?”, but instead said, “He’s speaking with the knights. The fight caught their attention…eventually. I’m not sure what he’ll tell them.”

Gwen nodded. “We shall find out when he returns.”

When she hesitated again at the doors, Merlin only gave her a look and ordered, “Go.”

So she did, taking one more deep breath and sending out one more prayer before she set foot in the royal chambers. Everyone had already gathered at the table.

Her eyes immediately went to the two she had not yet seen. Having met a version of herself who was a mighty dark warrior, the new Merlin was probably just about what Gwen would expect to find. More muscles on him than she could ever imagine on hers, armed to the teeth, and with strange markings on his skin.

His big ears were still just the same, though. As was the smile on his face when he saw her.

“I see you clean up nicely in this world, too,” he said.

Gwen found herself smiling back.

In the spot next to him, was Arthur. He stood, back straight as an arrow, a sword hanging from one hip and what might have been a mace from the other, his arms clasped behind his back. He inclined his head to her in a wholly regal fashion, and only said, “My lady.”

Seeing no point in correcting the title anymore, Gwen bowed in kind and said, “My lord.”

From how Gwenhwyfar had spoken of her beloved prince, this Arthur was exactly what she might have expected, too – save for maybe the fact that she could see no markings on him, not even one to match Gwenhwyfar’s.

Gwen winced as she took her in fully, though. “Are you alright?”

She had blood on her lip and cheek, a gash that ran along her hairline and pieces of glass in her hair. “This is nothing,” she dismissed.

“You look dreadful,” Guenevere commented.

Gwenhwyfar, naturally, just rolled her eyes.

“Should I send for Gaius to tend to you?” Gwen asked.

“There will be time for that later,” Gwenhwyfar dismissed again. “I would rather spend this time discussing the night’s events.”

Gwen affected a brave face. “As you wish,” she said, “but I think it best to wait for the king to return.”

All took her unspoken invitation to settle in and both Arthurs reached to grab one side of the chair at the head of the long table, pulling it out for her, which was – an odd sort of experience.

She was tucked in quite nicely with both their help, and kindly thanked them as they took their own seats at the table. They were three for three, the people of one world opposite those of another, with Gwen in the middle of it, and frankly, she wasn’t so sure what to do with that.

Probably best to start off simple. “What happened?”

To her left, Gwenhwyfar said, “I fought Uther, but he is far more powerful than I expected. Arthur,” she added, and Gwen wondered if she was aware of how lovingly she spoke his name, “managed to repel him. He came just in time.”

Dragoon seemed particularly intrigued by this, turning curious eyes on Arthur. “And how did you come here?”

“Magic,” Arthur deadpanned. Gwen wasn’t sure if she should laugh.

But something did strike her as odd. “Could you see him?” she asked. Arthur shook his head.

“Then how did you he was there?”

“Well,” he said, “it was either a ghost, or she was fighting air.”

“Or an invisible sorcerer,” Dragoon supplied.

“Or that,” Arthur allowed.

“Perhaps from now on,” Guenevere spoke as she rubbed slow circles into the wrist of her husband’s hand, where he had laid it on the table, “it would be wise to be able to truly see him. Could Gaius prepare more of his potion?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Gwen said. By happenstance, she looked not at Guenevere but at her husband, watching curiously as his mouth turned up in a soft smile at hearing Gaius’s name, a faraway look in his eyes. Come to think of it, he had looked the same when he had first met Gaius. And when he had taken his own dose of the potion from his hands.

“And perhaps,” Guenevere now turned to Gwenhwyfar, “from now on, you could also choose not to act so recklessly.”

Oh, no, Gwen thought faintly as Gwenhwyfar’s mouth thinned.

“I saw my chance and I took it,” she said.

“You went after Uther without thinking,” Guenevere persisted. “You could have been seen – worse, you could have been killed. Do not pretend you acted on anything other than impulse. And anger.”

Gwenhwyfar looked to be slowly filling with anger now, too, as her Arthur’s expression grew more guarded and Merlin began to studiously inspect his nails.

“Do not preach to me about the way that I should feel about this man,” Gwenhwyfar warned.

“He is not the same one who – ”

Guenevere’s words were cut off when her husband turned her hand over in his, wrapping his fingers tightly around hers. He shook his head ever so slightly, and Guenevere fell silent, never finishing what she had wanted to say.

Her meaning had still been perfectly clear, though. “No, he is not the same one who killed her brother,” Gwen said – she, too, perhaps, acting on impulse. “But Uther did kill my father.”

Guenevere dipped her head in apology while her Arthur’s head snapped in her direction. There was something like perfect understanding in his expression as he gave her a wry smile. “Mine, too.”

Gwen had little time to ponder that answer and none to ask for an explanation, for the doors opened to reveal the king, and behind him, Leon and Gaius – Merlin, too, and Gwen had to wonder how he had managed to sort out the mess in her chambers so fast.

But it was Arthur who had her attention. She met his eyes and the world around her faded to noise as he held her gaze. She could see his weariness, guilt and regret, too – even some relief, just the barest easing of the tension in him, when he saw her.

He never looked away as he took his seat at the end of the table opposite her, and she followed every move he made as he settled in. (Guenevere’s husband followed Gaius’s.)

Gwen swallowed. “How is it?”

Arthur took a deep breath. “We drew attention,” he said. “I had to tell the knights that there was still a threat in Camelot.”

Leon, who remained standing at the king’s side, snapped out of his dazed studying of the attendees, and Gwen realized that it was only now that he met Arthur’s doubles – though he seemed most disturbed by Merlin’s double’s appearance. (Merlin himself, as if frightened of it, too, had come to stand behind Gwen.)

“They believe an assassin still roams the city,” Leon informed. “They know nothing of the ghost. I will ensure that it remains so.” His eyes slipped to Arthur. “You said you had seen it. May I ask who it is, my lord?”

Arthur looked at Gwen from across the table – it seemed to stretch for miles between them, somehow – and gave a soft sigh. “It’s…my father.”

“Your fa – !” Leon stopped short. “I…see.”

He looked towards her, too, brow creased in a frown, even when his eyes slowly filled with understanding. Gwen gave him the barest of smiles in return, about just as much as she could muster.

“Seeing him is exactly the challenge we face,” Guenevere said. “We were just discussing it – now that the prince and – Merlin, have joined us, it would be wise to allow them to see him as well. Perhaps even Sir Leon. Would it be possible to make more of your potion, Gaius?”

Gaius, seated on their side of the table next to Dragoon, nodded readily. “It brews as we speak, my lady.”

She nodded in turn, smiling.

“Sire,” Leon spoke quietly, as if a difficult thought had just occurred to him, “does this mean our plans have changed? Is our goal still to destroy…the ghost?”

Arthur shut his eyes, rubbing his forehead as the fingers of his other hand worked against one another restlessly atop the table.

“It is what we must do,” Gwenhwyfar said without pity. “Perhaps it is not the only way, but it might as well be. We do not have time for thinking of anything else, not when he grows in power. He already knows how to manipulate objects – and who knows what sort of trickery your Morgana has taught him to make him able to break through my protections?”

Tension spread at her words and Arthur froze. “She didn’t teach him that,” he said after a moment. “It was my fault. I let him in.”

Gwenhwyfar went very still, very fast. “You let him in?”

“I thought I could reason with him.” Yet he wasn’t speaking to Gwenhwyfar as he said it, but to Gwen, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “I’m sorry.”

Gwen swallowed tightly.

“Reason with him?” Gwenhwyfar was not deterred. “With the man who’s trying to kill your betrothed?”

Arthur flinched. “I thought, um…I thought Morgana had talked him into it.”

“Right,” Gwenhwyfar sneered, as Guenevere’s husband ran a hand over his face, shaking his head. “Because good men can be talked into this sort of thing.”

“I was wrong,” Arthur said quietly.

It broke Gwen’s heart to see him like this. “What’s done is done,” she declared. “There is no point in dwelling on it.”

Arthur’s expression filled with gratitude, his shoulders rising and falling in a soft sigh as he gave her a tender smile.

“That still doesn’t answer the good knight’s question,” Gwenhwyfar’s Merlin spoke from the spot next to his commander, and all eyes went to him. “Is your goal still to destroy him?”

His throat working as he swallowed, Arthur asked a question in return, “What would it mean, to…destroy him, with the blade? For his…”

“Soul?” Merlin offered, shrugging. “If he is struck with Excalibur, then he will be gone. Banished from all existence. Not just this world, not just the next, not just once and not just in future. If you had hoped to still reunite with him in the spirit world, or even in the next life, you would be sorely disappointed.”

Gwen’s heart broke further still at the expression it brought to Arthur’s face. Watching him now, and with a sinking feeling in her stomach, she knew he wouldn’t bear to do it.

“You had no qualms before you knew who it was,” Gwenhwyfar accused. “Now you care what it means to destroy a ghost?”

“He’s my father,” Arthur said tightly.

“He’s either your father or the man who’s trying to kill the woman you profess to love,” Gwenhwyfar was relentless. “You’re either trying to save her or trying to save him. It’s as simple as that.”

Nothing about it was simple – not to Arthur. It was terrible to watch him struggle with it, wrestle with the thought that this was a choice he had to make. Giving up the throne for her was one thing. Giving up his father was another one entirely.

But Gwenhwyfar had asked a question which, in the end, did have a simple answer, and Gwen realized she didn’t want to hear it.

A lump rose in her throat but she swallowed past it, blowing out a quiet breath no one heard.

“Regardless of any of this,” she spoke, and drew everyone’s attention, “I…wanted to say thank you.”

She lingered a moment on each of them, these people from different worlds who reminded her of herself, those she loved and even one she once feared, and found the will to smile.

“All of you,” she said. “I do owe you my life. You’ve risked your own lives to try and save mine, and for that, I am truly grateful. I hope you know that.”

By the looks on their faces, they understood that her words were goodbyes disguised as thank you’s. Even Arthur, though it sank in more slowly for him, his frown giving way to understanding. He began shaking his head, opening his mouth to speak, but Gwen went on before he could.

“But I see no reason now why you should continue to – ”

“How was he summoned?”

Gwen’s head snapped to the left, where Gwenhwyfar’s Arthur had raised the question. It was the first thing he had spoken in a long time.

“We do not know,” it was Guenevere who answered.

“Still, if it was his daughter who summoned him,” he looked around for confirmation and received nods in return, “then there are harder, and easier, ways to do it. Would she have the power to wield, say, an artefact imbued with the magic of the Triple Goddess?”

“She is a high priestess,” her Merlin said and Gwen blinked. How did he know that was the right answer to that question?

Arthur nodded. “Where I come from, there are objects someone with such power can use to find a way to their dead – to call for those of their blood. What would be their equivalent here?”

It was probably to be expected that all heads turned to Gaius. He gave it some thought, then said, “I have heard of such objects. Perhaps the most likely one is the Horn of Cathbhadh.” He turned to the king. “In the days of the Old Religion, the high priestesses would use it to communicate with their ancestors, at the Great Stones of Nemeton. It is within reason to assume that Morgana could have it.”

“If that is what she used to bring Uther into our world,” Leon asked, “then I assume it is also what could send him back?”

“Yes.”

“So, if we were to retrieve it…”

“It’s not that simple.” Gaius shook his head. “Morgana summoned Uther here. Only she can send him back.”

“Were you not listening when I explained this?” Gwenhwyfar commented dryly.

“Right, but,” her Arthur said, “if it calls for one’s blood through a two-way bond, then surely, its purpose can be altered to include a third…”

“Oh, you’re clever,” his Merlin suddenly enthused, shaking his head as if in wonder. “You’re so very clever…”

“Thank you.”

Merlin turned to Dragoon, opposite him. “If it responds to the call of Morgaine’s blood, then it can also be tricked into responding to that of someone else from the bloodline – ”

“Oh, yes,” Dragoon agreed, eyes widening in epiphany. “If the sense-memory of the Horn draws on that part of Morgana’s blood which comes from Uther to maintain the bond, then we need only make it blind to the true identity of that who wields it…”

“By masking the fact that it’s not a woman…”

“And it will respond to the part of him which comes from Uther as well it would have Morgana’s.”

“Of course.”

“It’s so obvious.”

It is? Gwen thought weakly. Opposite her, Arthur was scratching his head. “What?”

“If you retrieve the Horn,” Dragoon put it plainly, “I can alter its purpose.”

“Alter its purpose?”

“With a, um, potion. You will be able use it to send Uther back to the spirit world.”

Arthur’s response was immediate. “Yes,” he said, like he was grasping a lifeline.

“Very well.” Dragoon nodded. “Now we need only find where Morgana keeps it…”

“Gather all the reports we’ve had of her being sighted,” Arthur turned to Leon. “We will go through them and try and find common ground. With some luck, we can find where she dwells now.” He looked to Merlin. “You and I will go to retrieve this horn.”

“Oh, um…” Guenevere looked between them. “You feel equipped to face Morgana? You and your…servant?”

Merlin reeled. “I am perfectly capable of – ” He stopped mid-word. “Never mind.”

But Arthur was chewing on his lip. “God, you’re right.”

Guenevere opened her mouth as if to make a suggestion, only for her eyes to widen when her husband said, “Dragoon and I will go.”

“You will?”

He placed his hand over hers. “Have no fear,” he soothed. “We will be fine, you know we will.”

Gwen rather thought that what she feared, was that they would leave her alone here again. But she swallowed it back, and affected a fearless demeanor. “Of course,” she agreed. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

He smiled in return, bringing her hand to his lips. Gwen had to look away.

Her eyes fell to their doubles instead, and she was struck again that Gwenhwyfar and hers seem to have the ability to hold conversations without words. Gwen lingered on the prince, though. For all the help he had just given her, he still seemed – reluctant to be here, as reluctant as Guenevere had been at times, showing little emotion, face nearly set in stone. Except for when his eyes were on Gwenhwyfar.

Gwen had to look away from them, too.

“Sire, I must ask again,” she heard Leon speak, “but what of the tournament? With the threat on Gwen’s life, should we let it go on?”

She could hardly avoid Arthur’s eyes now, watching her from across the table. The tournament was in honor of their engagement, for them, for the kingdom to enjoy it with them. As they waited for their wedding day.

Even as she readied to tell Leon to cancel it, the words got stuck in her throat.

“It should be safe enough,” Guenevere spoke when she didn’t. “Besides, to cancel it might make people wonder, it might reveal to them how serious a threat there is in Camelot. Why worry them?”

Gwen expelled a breath, not quite knowing what to do. “Um…”

“Yet, there is a threat,” Leon pointed out. “To you, Gwen.” He sighed softly. “I know that I won’t be able to fight as well as I should if my mind is only on your safety. I’m sure the king feels the same way.”

By the looks of him, he did.

“Hmm,” Gwenhwyfar hummed, eyes focusing on Guenevere like those of a hunter. Her prey had the good sense to look wary. “If it is so safe,” she said, “then surely you, my lady, won’t mind taking Guinevere’s place tomorrow? To put the men’s minds at ease?”

Guenevere’s jaw dropped. “I – what?”

“Come on,” Gwenhwyfar seemed to be enjoying this, “you know how well you can pass for her in this world. You even confused Uther.” She smirked. “Or are you frightened?”

“Commander,” her husband warned quietly as Guenevere looked on like it had just been suggested to her that she fight a bear with her bare hands.

But she masked it quickly and raised her chin, staring Gwenhwyfar down in defiance. “I will do it.”

“You will?” her husband and Arthur let out as one.

She gave a smile to the former then turned to the latter. “I will,” she asserted again. “I will play this part to ensure the future queen’s safety until the threat is gone. But only,” she added, “if you allow my husband to take your place, too.”

Arthur bit his lip. “Uh…”

His double seemed to like this idea much better, however. “Yes,” he agreed – enthusiastically. “We can recover the Horn tonight. And in the morning, I will take your place in this tournament. It’s perfect.”

Arthur looked a little lost, eyes bouncing from Gwen to Merlin to Leon to Gaius, only to, in the end, nod his agreement. “Alright.”

“Then it’s settled,” his double concluded. “What sort of tournament is this anyway?”

“A joust.”

He nodded with utmost confidence. “Excellent.”

As the meeting was adjourned and they were being dismissed, Gwen saw him lean towards Guenevere, and whisper, “You’ll help me figure out what a joust is, won’t you?”

They filed out of the king’s quarters one by one – Dragoon and the Merlins all on Gaius’s heels to his quarters, saying something about potions and the horn, Guenevere and her husband to her quarters, Gwenhwyfar and her prince to hers. Leon departed alone, as fast as his legs would carry him.

Gwen watched them all go, hands clutched tightly in her lap, until it was just her and Arthur.

“Guinevere.”

She wrenched her eyes away from the doors, to the hard wood before her then along the length of it, until they finally settled on his. Arthur looked restless, hands clasped tightly in front of him. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach across for her, somehow.

“You must believe,” he said earnestly, “that I never wanted anything to happen to you. I truly thought…that I could make him see sense.” He sighed. “But you were right. Morgana never had to talk him into anything. I’m sorry.”

Gwen nodded. “I know.”

The corner of his mouth began to lift into a tired smile but it fell away when she spoke nothing further. He gave a little nod. “You have every right to be angry with me.”

“I’m not angry,” she said. “But, Arthur, I am not the only one your actions put in danger.”

“I know.” His fingers twitched again. “But I won’t make the same mistake again,” he promised. “I won’t give my father the chance to harm you.”

Gwen rubbed her lips together, looking down to her hands. “What if the others don’t succeed in retrieving the horn?” she asked quietly.

“They will.”

“But if they don’t?”

He looked lost again, terrified, just like when Merlin had spoken of what it would mean to destroy Uther’s ghost. Swallowing, he said, “I have to believe that they will.”

She sighed deeply, and said nothing.

“Guinevere…” He pushed his chair back, already halfway down the length of the table before he stopped, unsure. “You can’t think that I will let him harm you.”

“Arthur, you led him straight to me,” she said tightly.

“I know, I – ” He let out a ragged breath. “He’s my father,” he said helplessly. “I didn’t want to believe that this…is the kind of man he is. I acted without thinking, and I…I am sorry. Truly.”

She never doubted it. Her other doubts, however – they sprang like traps in the grass, snagging at her feet with every step she took. “What did he say?” she asked. “Why does he want me dead?”

“That’s – that’s not important, it doesn’t matter.”

As if she didn’t already know the answer. “He thinks I’m not worthy of being queen, doesn’t he?”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Arthur said.

The worst part of it was – maybe he did. Maybe, despite what Merlin, what Arthur said, somewhere deep down, the man who killed her father had a point.

Summoning all that supposed courage Guenevere praised her for, Gwen said, “Leon wondered about the tournament, if we should cancel it. I wonder…I wonder about our wedding.” She swallowed. “Should it still go on?”

Arthur swayed in the spot like she had struck him. “You no longer want to marry me?”

Tears stung her eyes. “I do,” she said, with all her heart. “But there is no way of knowing if the danger will have passed by then. And besides, I…I can’t help but think that maybe…” She didn’t know how to finish that sentence.

“Guinevere, if this is about what my father thinks – ”

“It’s not Uther.” Not really. “It’s the others,” she said, looking to the doors again. Beyond them, she imagined Guenevere, giving glorious speeches on how they were all born to be queens. And Gwenhwyfar, eyes shining in the candlelight when she said that they were not.

“The truth is, I look at them and I wonder about myself.” She turned back to Arthur. “Am I truly the queen that you and Camelot need?”

“There is no doubt in my mind.”

She drew a shaky breath, and finally admitted, “There is in mine.”

Arthur’s mouth opened but no sound left it, his brow creasing in a frown. “Why – ” He shook his head a little. “Why didn’t you say something?”

She rose from her own chair, pacing away, then spun back around, and just shrugged. “All I ever wanted was to be your queen. All these years…I waited for you. So, how can I admit that…that now, I finally realize that maybe, I don’t have what it takes to be queen? That this was truly never meant for me?”

Arthur’s eyes softened. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Arthur…”

“What does it matter,” he stepped closer, “that you are a servant? It doesn’t matter to me. It doesn’t matter to the knights – or the people.”

“I know it matters to some,” she said quietly. With more difficulty, she added, “It mattered to you, too, once.”

He stopped, his face crumbling. “You know I didn’t mean that.”

Traps in the grass. “Well, maybe you were right,” she said. “Maybe Agravaine was. Maybe Uther is.”

Arthur looked ready to deal with anything but this. “No, Guinevere…what I said then – I was wrong. Agravaine was wrong – my father is most certainly wrong. Why are you talking like this?”

Her shoulders slumped. She tried to put it into words, struggled with it under Arthur’s increasing scrutiny, and in the end, what came out was, “I don’t know how to write summaries on grain reports.”

She had never seen him look more confused in her life. “Is – is that it?”

She huffed.

“Guinevere, you learn these things – it’s really not that hard – ”

“Not to you,” she said. “You’ve spent your whole life learning such things, preparing to be king.”

“Yet for all that, I made mistakes,” he argued. “And it’s not what’s going to make me a good king.”

“No,” she agreed gently. “It is your heart that makes you a good king. Yet the importance of all that you have been taught cannot be underestimated. Things that I never was.” She toyed with her betrothal band, smiling wanly. “There is so much that is expected of a queen. Things she must know and be able to do.”

Arthur listened, his face impassive. “Guinevere.” He pursed his lips, pressing a fist to his mouth. “You are the wisest person I know. You can’t tell me you didn’t already know all this.”

She shrugged. “I suppose I just…never realized how much there is to know.”

“Has it made you change your mind?” he asked.

“I was wondering if it changed yours.”

“No.” He shook his head slowly. “Nothing changes the way I feel about you.”

“This isn’t just about us. Camelot deserves a queen who – at the very least, she should be impressive. Know the histories, the great families, the land – the laws.” She thought of Guenevere again. “Like the daughter of a king.”

“Oh, come on…”

“You can’t tell me we would be having this problem with Uther if I were more like her.”

Arthur chewed on his tongue, then simply sighed. “You’re not like her,” he said. “Isn’t that what you keep saying? So, what’s the point in thinking about it?”

“Are you really telling me,” Gwen asked, “that you haven’t thought about it at all?”

He went quiet for a while, looking to his shoes. “I’ve thought about many things,” he muttered, then lifted his head as if shaking it off. “But none of that’s important. All that matters,” he gave her a small, hopeful smile, “is that this will be over soon.”

Gwen smiled, even as her tears fell.

The trouble was, she feared that it would be truly over for her.

“It’s alright,” Arthur soothed, hand out to reach for her, “it’s alright.”

She closed her eyes when his fingers touched her cheek. They wiped away her tears and trailed down her jaw, until he held her chin in his hand, knuckles gently grazing the skin underneath. Gwen leaned into him, touching her lips to his palm, then pulled away with a sigh.

“Guinevere?” He sounded uncertain.

“Until it is over,” she said, “I think…I think you should at least consider postponing our wedding.”

Arthur’s arm slowly fell back to his side. “At least?”

“At least,” she whispered.

“There is nothing to consider,” his voice was thick. “I made you a promise.”

Gwen dabbed a finger under her eyes. “Your double and Dragoon may very well fail in their task. If it can even be done.”

“They won’t, and it can.”

“I want to believe that.” She nodded. “But things don’t always happen as we want them to.”

If they did, she would not be having be having this conversation with the man she loved a day before their wedding.

Arthur raked his fingers through his hair. “Well, what do you want me to say?” he finally let out. “That if it comes to it, I could destroy my father that way? Because I – I don’t know that I can,” he said, like it pained him to no end to confess it. “I…I don’t know.”

Gwen pressed her lips together, stifled her tears, and only said, “It’s alright, Arthur. I understand.”

He reached for her again. “My love – ”

“I think – ” She sniffled, stepping back. “I think it’s getting late. We should get some rest. And I’ve given you plenty to think about,” she added, turning on her heel to leave. “Goodnight, my lord.”

At the door, she couldn’t help but stop to look at him one last time. Under the light of the flickering candles, his eyes were wet.

Chapter Text

Guenevere held her husband’s hand as they snuck down dark, unused corridors to the quarters that had been assigned to her. Though she set a brisk pace, Arthur’s curiosity slowed them down, until their brisk pace became barely more than a crawl.

When they did creep into the chambers through a side door that creaked on its hinges, his curiosity spread, to what were either worthless trinkets or priceless belongings of the royal family, sticking out in odd places and at odd angles. Guenevere suspected they had put her in the same room where they put everything else in this palace they didn’t know what to do with.

Arthur’s fingers slid away from hers, to rummage through the drawers of the desk. He pulled on the last drawer, and from it, pulled a dagger, its sheathe encrusted with jewels. “Whose do you reckon this is?”

“A lady’s, probably,” she indulged him.

He hummed agreeably, flipping it in his hand, before he cast another sweeping look around the quarters. “Is it just my imagination, or did they put you in a storeroom?”

“I’m beginning to think so, too, yes.”

A smile appeared beneath his beard. “Well, that will just not do,” he proclaimed with mock severity, discarding the dagger as he made his way back to her, hand out. “Did you tell them that you were the queen and that you will not stand for such treatment?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, slipping her hand in his again and sliding against him when he pulled her closer. “I told them that my husband would be here soon and that they would all pay dearly for this offense.”

His smile turned into a grin. “They will rue the day they were born,” he vowed.

Guenevere giggled when he softly pressed his mouth to hers, slipping her hands over his breastplate and around his shoulders. He sighed against her lips, then wrapped his arms around her, the cold metal of his armor hard against her ribs. He placed another gentle kiss on her lips before he brushed one against her forehead, and let out a deep breath that wafted through her hair.

“I did worry,” he said, as if continuing some previous conversation, no trace of teasing in his voice now. “You’ve been taken from me before.”

“It’s alright,” she soothed, playing with the ends of his hair. His eyes drifted shut. “I’m alright. You found me.” She kissed his cheek. “I knew you would.”

He turned his head to capture her lips again, then pulled her into a hug. “Never have any doubt,” he whispered.

Guenevere tucked her head into the crook his neck, breathing in deeply, and never said that she had been worried, too – if only for a moment, while his double interrogated her. That he had been delayed, somehow, that he had run into trouble along the way. Never that he did not search for her, though. And it had taken only a whisper from Gwenhwyfar then, a quiet, “Remember when he came for you last time,” in her ear, to make the worry disappear.

“And how did you find me?” she asked, pulling back, and started loosening the belts that held his armor together when it occurred to her just how long he must have been in it. It had been such a long day.

He gave her a grateful smile. “Well, the way you disappeared suggested teleportative magic from the start. Morgana confirmed the traces left behind had all the markings of you being pulled into a different world.” He shrugged. “After that, it was only a matter of searching every world in the universe until I found you.”

“Only?” she echoed with a smile and received a tender one in return. Shaking her head a little, she moved to the belts at his back. “So, how many worlds did you go through before you found this one?”

“About thirty, I think.” He began working on his gauntlets. “Your formerly assassin self says hello, by the way.”

It constantly amazed her that, even in times like these, he still found ways to just chat with their doubles. “Mm, and how is she?”

“Quite well.” He tossed the gauntlets on the table, followed by his breastplate. “She offered to come with us and help me find you.”

“Did she really?”

“She did. It’s been quiet for her since she became High Queen,” he said, weaponry and pieces of armor falling away as he talked. “I think she just wanted some adventure, really. She still wears that comb-dagger in her hair, you know.”

“While that’s always lovely,” Guenevere said, clasping her hands, “maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned it to the Guinevere of this world.”

He winced. “You and Gwenhwyfar are both right,” he agreed. “You could have warned me, though.”

“There is only so much information you can give in thirty seconds.”

Arthur laughed a little, shedding the last of the armor, then rolled his shoulders with a groan. “Gods, that’s better. Here.”

He settled into the nearest chair, holding his hand out to her. She went readily, settling on his lap as she wound her arm around his shoulders, running her fingers along the muscles beneath his shirt. The fabric was damp under her fingers.

“You have been too long in that armor,” she said.

He gave her a crooked grin. “Aren’t you glad Merlin enchants all my clothes not to smell?”

“Yes, I believe I suggested that.”

“Well, we can’t all smell like flowers all the time,” he said, burying his nose in her hair and letting out a deep, contended sigh.

“That’s because I bathe.”

“You wound me, my lady.”

She laughed under her breath, wiggling to make herself more comfortable. Arthur threw an arm over her legs, nestling her nicely against him, as his fingers drew languid patterns along her hip. If she had her way, they would never move.

“How are things at home?”

“Elibel is fine,” Arthur reassured knowingly. “She misses you, though.”

Rationally, she knew that a four-month-old babe’s concept of missing someone was probably limited to nonexistent. She broke into a grin nonetheless. “Really?”

Arthur’s grin matched hers. “Really. Although,” he added, “it might be that she just keeps mistaking you for her mirror and misses seeing her own beautiful reflection.”

Guenevere giggled. Rationally, there was no reason for the idea to make such love and warmth unfurl in her chest either. But every time she looked on her daughter, so like her already, her heart filled with a pride she could not even begin to describe.

“She does look a lot like me, doesn’t she?”

Arthur nodded. “It’s a good job, too,” he said. “This beard would look terrible on a child.”

He made that joke every time. And every time, she laughed anyway.

Arthur stifled her laughter with his lips, kissing her until she sat boneless in his arms, her mind blissfully empty for a few glorious moments. She was tempted to never think of anything again.

Alas…

“You’ll be careful?”

Arthur pulled his head away from her neck, where he had been busy placing slow, open-mouthed kisses. He blinked at her change in tone, then smiled. “Of course. You don’t have to worry.”

Yet she couldn’t help but – mostly for herself, if she were honest. “And you’ll return quickly, won’t you?”

He pecked her lips, squeezing her side in reassurance. “It will only be a few hours,” he promised.

“And if they can’t find where she is?”

“Then Merlin can – our Merlin, obviously,” he said. “He can cast a spell to follow magic, which would surely lead to their Morgana eventually. There can’t be too many who practice it around these parts.” That last part was spoken sadly, his lips pressing together. “Their Merlin says Uther is the reason it’s banned here,” he said more quietly. “He truly is a curse upon every world he’s in, isn’t he?”

Guenevere pressed a soft kiss to his temple. “At least it might be further evidence for Morgana’s Theory of Constants.”

“She’ll be so pleased,” Arthur deadpanned.

She probably would be, actually. If it meant she could say there was yet another invariable across the worlds. The thought of Uther never affected her as much as it did Arthur.

“If she is,” Guenevere said, “it will be because she cares for magic above all else. The Morgana of this world cares for power and the throne of Camelot. She is dangerous.” With more urgency, she added, “You have to remember that.”

He bit his lip, looking away. “I’m not as careless with these things as you and Merlin think.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she assured quickly, “but, Arthur, you can’t tell me that the reason you offered the go on this quest is not just because you want to help, it is because you want to meet her. See for yourself what she is like here.”

“Is that really so bad?” he asked quietly.

“No. But you might not like what you find.”

He sighed, deep in thought, then shook it off. “Be that as it may...my first intent is to help.” He smiled at her. “Perhaps have some fun, too.”

She combed her fingers through his hair. “Do we not have enough fun at home?”

“Oh, come on,” he enthused, “it’s a joust!”

She raised an eyebrow.

“The…meaning of which you will help me understand?” he added slowly.

Guenevere shook her head, desperately amused. “I had the opportunity to look through some books here,” she said, and never mentioned that she had also had the opportunity to nearly scare a man to death. “I think I’ve seen some writings on it. Two knights will race horses towards each other, holding up a lance. Their purpose is to use the lance to unhorse their opponent.”

Arthur blinked. “Is that it?”

“I believe so.”

“Well, I knew that!” He huffed. “I saw them doing it on the fighting grounds when we came here. I just didn’t…think that was all there was to it.” Disappointment was written all over his face. “We do have more fun at home…”

Guenevere remembered seven-foot men swinging maces at her husband’s head and begged to differ. “If it is so easy, then you will at least help the king’s reputation by impressing everyone,” she consoled.

“Mm,” he agreed absentmindedly, winding the ends of her hair around his fingers.

She smiled faintly as she let her eyes go over him, the little purse of his lips and the crease in his brow. He never had any fear.

“You’ll have to shave to pass for the Arthur of this world,” she commented. “Cut your hair a bit, too.” She raised her hand to run her knuckles along his beard. “It’s a shame, really,” she said softly. “I quite like you like this.”

“Merlin can regrow it for me,” he said immediately.

She hummed, still stroking his face, feeling the coarse whiskers under her fingertips. Quietly, with her heart suddenly in her throat, she asked, “Will he able to regrow my head after I’ve lost it, too?”

“Guenevere.” He caught her hand, lightly kissing her fingers. “You don’t have to do this,” he said without reproach. “You can return home. No one will blame you if you choose to be cautious.”

She almost accepted. Just nearly convinced herself that her husband’s understanding was absolution enough, that she was justified in wanting to just run and hide and damn everyone else. But it was a difficult thing to hold on to when her better selves practically breathed the same air as her.

“Perhaps this is not the time to be cautious,” she said. “Perhaps,” she took a deep breath, “it is the time to do the right thing.” And be brave.

When Arthur’s mouth turned up into a proud smile, she already felt it.

“She is a good person.” Guenevere nodded resolutely. “She deserves all the help she can get. I knew she was in danger from the moment the first assassin attacked,” she confessed, eyes downcast. “I never said anything, not until Gwenhwyfar made it impossible not to. Even then, I… I resented her for it. I wanted to argue that we should keep out of it anyway and leave Guinevere to her fate, whatever it may be.”

Arthur’s chest rose beneath her hand in a deep sigh. “Our moments of weakness are forgiven if, in the end, we choose to correct our mistakes,” he said. “Isn’t that what you told me once?”

Guenevere’s mouth twitched. “So I have.”

“If that is true for me, then it must also be true for you.”

She did truly smile now. He always knew how to make her feel better. Dipping her head to kiss the spot above his heart, she said, “Thank you.”

He kissed her hair in return, then cocked his head. “Does this mean that you would be willing to admit that Gwenhwyfar – ” he raised his eyebrows – “was right?”

She bit her lip. “On this one solitary occasion,” she allowed.

 Arthur chuckled, leaning back to rest his head on the back of the chair. Stroking her back, he softly asked, “Why are you always so hard with her?”

Guenevere sighed. “She frustrates me,” she admitted, fiddling with the collar of Arthur’s shirt. “She…has the means to rise above all who have come before her.”

Her reputation already preceded her. She was the mighty Gwenhwyfar, wielder of Excalibur, known among beasts and men. Yet she could be so much more than what she was now, if she would just learn to use her head instead of her heart...

“To be not just a warrior,” Guenevere said, “but a queen. With a story in her own name that would last forever in the minds of men.” She shrugged. “The stuff of legend.”

Arthur put a finger under her chin, raising it up until she met his eyes. “You are the stuff of legend, too.”

She was more of a footnote in the story of one. Two, even.

Still, she smiled for her husband and leaned into his touch, letting him guide her head to rest on his shoulder.

“I love you,” he murmured.

She closed her eyes as he held her. “I love you, too.”

“I will need two fingers of devil’s tear, a king’s cup of raven’s blood,” Dragoon was firing out ingredients, “your finest werewolf hair, and branches from a north-facing tree.”

Merlin blinked. “I only understood ‘north-facing tree’.”

Dragoon sighed. “In that case, I will need a piece of parchment and all the writings on transformative magic you have.”

Helplessly looking from Dragoon to Gaius and back, Merlin said, “I…have a book of spells under my bed?”

Dragoon sighed again, heavily. “I suppose that will do.”

‘I suppose that will do,’ Merlin mimicked behind his back as he went to fetch the book, making Gaius’s lip twitch in amusement. When he reemerged from his room, Emrys was swinging himself up to the second level by his bare hands. Merlin didn’t ask.

“Here you go.” He dropped the book before Dragoon with a thud, rattling the potions scattered across the desk. Wryly pursing his lips, Dragoon settled into the nearest chair – with what he probably thought was great dignity.

“Don’t let him get to you.” Emrys swung back down, a book of his own under his arm. “He thinks he’s better than everyone else.”

Dragoon never once looked up. “That’s funny, considering who you follow.”

“Ah, but see,” Emrys said, taking a seat on the steps to Merlin’s room, “she actually does know better than ordinary men.”

“Time has yet to show that.”

“Legend has foretold it.”

It went on and on, neither one of them looking up from their reading as they argued while Merlin’s head snapped from one to the other in utter bewilderment. (‘Legends are stories’ – ‘Legends are the wisdom of the ancients’ – ‘That she carries the name of an ancient legend does not mean she is a modern one’ – ‘Yet it does have meaning’ – ‘You lack critical thought’ – ‘You lack faith.’)

Desperately looking to Gaius for guidance, Merlin found him tearing up strips of old bedclothes and dropping them into a large bowl. The terrible realization that he was about to be left alone with his doubles gripped Merlin at once. “What are you doing?”

Gaius didn’t pause in his task. “I must go tend to Gwenhwyfar’s injuries now.”

“Good luck with that,” Emrys snorted.

Gaius smiled faintly. “Warriors often do make the most difficult patients.”

“Oh, she is not the difficult one.”

Merlin panicked a little but Gaius still moved away, with his bowl and his strips, and the door shut behind him before Merlin could find a way to try and beg him to stay. He gulped, looking from one doppelganger to the other. How did Gwen deal with this?

“This is useless,” Dragoon was muttering, flipping the pages carelessly. “None of these writings help me in any way.”

Merlin’s panic gave way to indignation. “You could always just ask me what you need,” he remarked. “I am quite powerful, you know.”

Dragoon turned to look at him, one bushy eyebrow rising. “Very well.” He shut the book. “What can you tell me of transformative and trans-mutative object magic in this world?”

“Er…”

“Would it be easier to mediate the change through that which carries transformative properties, such as werewolf hair, or through that which changes the nature of the thing, such as artefacts used in alchemy?”

“Oh, um – that – uh – right, well – ”

“What spells exist?”

“Uh…”

Dragoon rolled his eyes. “You’re of no more help than this book,” he concluded. “The state of sorcery in this world saddens me.”

“Well, excuse me,” Merlin snapped, “if Uther declared war on magic, and destroyed everything!”

Heavy silence fell.

“Forgive me,” Dragoon said after a while, repentant. “I should not have said that. It was thoughtless.”

“Yeah,” Merlin agreed, and tried to make it look like there weren’t sudden tears prickling his eyes. It broke his heart in ways he couldn’t have imagined, to know that a world existed where he knew to raise these questions, where the study of magic was so welcome and free that he knew the answers. He would probably sell his soul to live in it.

“Perhaps you should consider a simpler enchantment,” Emrys suggested.

“How do you mean?” Dragoon asked.

“The Horn is, in its own way, a living thing too, is it not?” Emrys shrugged. “Perhaps you should seek to enchant its mind like you would enchant the mind of any living man.”

“Mm, yes,” Dragoon agreed. “Yes, that will work.” Without further comment, he flipped the book open once more and resumed his reading, muttering, ‘enchantments, enchantments…aha!’

Merlin left him to it and brought his attention to Emrys instead, just as deep in his own reading. “And what are you looking for?”

He glanced up at him, the barest of smiles at the corner of his mouth. “I’m trying to see if perhaps this world holds answers as to how to restore my magic.”

Merlin froze. “Restore your magic?”

Emrys nodded. “Morgaine stole my magic a long time ago. I’ve spent years trying to find a way to get it back.”

“I can’t imagine,” Merlin said quietly. “I don’t know who I would even be without my magic.”

“It is a difficult question,” Emrys agreed, just as quietly.

“I keep telling you,” Dragoon spoke, “that the answer you seek is that you must go to the Crystal Cave.”

“And I keep telling you,” Emrys returned, “that there is no such place in my world.”

“Oh, um, here it – ” Merlin began but neither paid him any mind.

“There must be,” Dragoon insisted. “All magic came from somewhere and all magic is the same.”

“Magic exists in all things, it does not belong to a single place. And it is older than the time of men.”

“So is the Crystal Cave. That is what you must find.”

“It does not exist!”

“It exists here,” Merlin tried again – and was, again, ignored.

“It must exist!”

“You of all people should know that not all worlds are the same.”

“But magic is.”

“That doesn’t mean that in my world – ”

“It seems to me,” Merlin raised his voice, “that if all magic is the same, then what holds true in one world also holds true in the next. If the Crystal Cave cannot be found in your world, why can’t you just visit it in a different one to restore your magic?”

Emrys and Dragoon froze. They looked to him then each other, like fish out of water.

“Um – ”

“Well – “

“It, uh – ”

“That – ”

“Might actually work,” Dragoon admitted weakly, eyes wide like his entire understanding of the world had just been turned upside-down.

Merlin looked down on them both with an air of supreme superiority. “Who’s backwards now?”

Emrys jumped to his feet, closing the book with a thud. “You said it exists here?”

“Yes – ”

“Where can I find it?”

Wait, no – “You can’t just go looking for it now.”

“Try and stop me.”

Merlin didn’t particularly fancy that option. “The valley of the Fallen Kings,” he conceded, then quickly added, “It is a place overrun with bandits and thieves.”

Emrys raised an eyebrow. “Do you really believe that I do not know how to take care of myself?” he asked. He crossed his arms for emphasis as he said it, too, flexing muscles that Merlin didn’t even know existed on his body.

“That is a very good point, yes.”

“It is still unwise that you go alone,” Dragoon said. “Especially in an unfamiliar world. Wait a while then ask your prince to accompany you.”

Emrys looked ready to argue, tightly-coiled like a man just bursting with desire to spring into action, but nodded nonetheless. “You’re right. I shall wait a moment.”

Waiting meant pacing, evidently – and turning over every vial, quill and trinket in the quarters to occupy his hands, which seemed to almost shake with excitement at times. To see a man suddenly filled with such new hope was as heartening as it was worrisome.

“I’ll call for Arthur in a bit,” he was saying as he went. Merlin wasn’t sure if he was talking to them or to himself. “Give him and Gwenhwyfar some time.”

Merlin smiled at that bit. “He loves her, doesn’t he?”

“The man performed magic he’s not even capable of just to get to her,” Emrys said, looking at him over his shoulder. “What do you think?”

Merlin hummed – then frowned. “Not capable of?”

“He has magic, but there were limits to his power,” Emrys said. “Certainly too many to ever face Morgaine and win. I’ve been…trying to train him, show him how to grow his power, the best I could. I’ve been teaching him magic, helping him learn its ways, since the day we met.”

His stories broke Merlin’s heart in unimaginable ways, too.

He cleared his throat. “I do remember his queen - ” he nodded to Dragoon - “saying something about you not having enough power to cause a ripple at the gates of the worlds or something such.”

Emrys rolled his eyes. “She says that every time Gwenhwyfar gets a rise out of her.”

“But I don’t think she will be able to say it anymore,” Merlin commented.

“Indeed not.” Emrys grinned. “I kept telling him that the key to his true power was love. Finally, he listens to me.” He cocked his head. “I suppose I should thank you, in a way.”

That was certainly better than wanting him dead for inadvertently abducting his commander without warning.

“Although,” Emrys added, “you had condemned me to the two most insufferable days of my life.”

And there it was. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright. You cannot be blamed for Arthur being…Arthur.”

Dragoon groaned. “I’ve spent the last two days blindly traipsing through thirty-two different worlds with him breathing down my neck,” he complained. “Does he care that I am now an old man and that the magic required to travel between worlds is exhausting? No!”

“Unless you’ve also had him miss the mark and take you to some godforsaken forest at first, then nearly get you eaten by griffins,” Emrys deadpanned, “you cannot know my pain.”

“He nearly got us eaten by wilddeoren once.” Merlin was nodding. “Also because he was trying to find Gwen.”

Emrys gave him a look of sympathy then closed his eyes, muttering, “This is worse than the time he tried to impress her by fighting a giant.”

“He fought a giant?” Merlin let out.

“Mm. To show Gwenhwyfar what a fine warrior he was.”

“Did he win?”

“Goddess, no. The giant flung him into a tree.”

Well, that had to have hurt.

“I do not think his intent was to impress her this time,” Dragoon commented.

“Nevertheless, she will be impressed,” Emrys said. “Although,” he added with a grin, “it will be the funniest thing to watch her admit something good came out of the travels she abhors.”

“You don’t seem to,” Merlin observed. “Abhor them, I mean.”

Emrys shrugged. “I like the stories.”

“And I,” declared Dragoon, “have the spell we need.” He looked up. “We should fetch our Arthurs.”

Gwenhwyfar sat in a chair of her guest chambers, watching as Gaius laid out clean strips of linen on the table then poured fresh water into a bowl, before turning to her with the gentle look of a practiced healer.

“Would you like me to clean your wounds now?” he asked.

“This will suffice, thank you,” it was Arthur who answered, moving from his spot in the corner. He brushed past Gaius, silently laying a hand over the supplies, and gave a single nod. Sometimes, it still impressed her how much he managed to convey with so little.

Gaius recognized the dismissal and bowed, though his gaze lingered as he took his leave. Gwenhwyfar had seen the same look in Merlin’s eyes when they rested on Arthur - amazement and some befuddlement, and perhaps something wistful, too.

Arthur said little as the doors shut behind Gaius, grabbing a chair to settle opposite her. He looked her over, appraising, before lifting a hand to her hair first.

She could not look away from him while he worked, his expression grave as he carefully combed through the strands and picked out the glass. The pieces of it clinked softly against the table each time he flicked one away.

“I can still hardly believe you’re here,” she said softly.

His eyes slipped down to hers. “Did you really expect me to do nothing when you disappeared?”

“No.” She swallowed. “But I never expected you would find a way into another world, either.” More quietly, she added, “I thought the power to do such a thing was still beyond your reach.”

Arthur held her gaze, his eyes a stunning blue in the candlelight. She could feel it still, the thrum of magic that seemed to surround him, an energy that spread and filled the air. When she raised her hand to press her fingers to his wrist, her skin crackled.

His eyes drifted shut, fingers tightening in her hair. She should have dropped her hand but didn’t, continuing to draw slow circles into his pulse point. The magic that ran through his veins now touched her, too, as intoxicating and addictive as the sweetest wine she had ever drunk.

She had never felt such power come from him before.

“This is amazing,” she said, her voice hushed, though it did nothing to hide her excitement. “You will surely prove to be more than a match for Morgaine now. It is everything we hoped Emrys could come to teach you.”

Arthur’s eyes slowly opened. “Emrys does say that you never know the true extent of your power until you are desperate.”

“Emrys says that power comes from love,” Gwenhwyfar corrected without thinking.

Arthur rubbed his lips together. “So he does.”

Gwenhwyfar gulped, suspended in the moment as Arthur slipped his hand from her hold to reach for a scrap of the linen and dip in the water.

“How did you know where to find me?” she asked as he pressed the wet cloth to her forehead, cleaning her wound.

“I always know where to find you,” he said simply. “It didn’t take long to realize what had happened,” he went on, wiping the blood that had dripped down her cheek. “Emrys and Gwaine came back from the hunt to tell me they had seen a bright light above the trees, at around the time you disappeared. I put it together pretty quickly after that.”

“I knew you would.” Gwenhwyfar nodded quickly, the knot of guilt she carried easing slightly. She had told herself a dozen times, that because he would put it together, that because she knew he would, she was not a horrible person for willingly prolonging his suffering.

“But when I first felt it – ” Arthur’s voice caught and her guilt returned tenfold. He swallowed. “When I first felt it, I thought I had truly lost you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said thickly.

Arthur nodded, tossing the cloth aside. He brought his hand to her forehead again, open palm hovering over her hairline.

“Ic hæle þina þrowunga,” he chanted softly, eyes golden, and the sting of the cut disappeared as her skin mended itself under the warm touch of his magic.

His hand trailed down the side of her face, knuckles grazing her cheek until he put one under her chin, raising it higher. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and Gwenhwyfar shuddered when his thumb pressed to her split lip.

“Wel cene hole,” he whispered and her eyes closed, the warmth spreading all through her body now. Little of it had to with magic as her mouth parted under his touch, a shaky breath escaping her. Arthur’s thumb tugged on her lip as it fell away and she unconsciously licked over the spot.

Arthur’s breath hitched, before he was suddenly pushing his chair back. “All done.”

She blinked and he was standing by the table, putting the supplies back in order. The used cloths dropped back in the bowl with a loud splash.

Gwenhwyfar cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

Arthur was neatly winding the clean bandages around his hand and setting them aside. “Of course.”

He wasn’t looking at her but his profile showed his jaw working in the dim light, his expression still grave and troubled, and it inevitably tugged at her heart.

So she told him funny stories to make him smile, of how she had knocked the great knights of this Camelot into the dirt one by one, and of the uncomprehending look in Gwaine’s double’s eyes just before he had gone face-first into the mud.

Finally, Arthur’s mouth ticked up at the corner. “So, you’ve had fun,” he said softly.

Oh. Gwenhwyfar sighed. “Arthur – ”

“What are we still doing here, Gwen?”

Only he ever called her that.

She stood, too, leaning to catch his eye. “I didn’t choose to be here,” she said, “but I promised to help Guinevere. I intend to keep that promise.”

He did look at her now, carefully impassive. “And none of it has to do with how much you hate Uther?”

She swallowed. “It could easily have been anyone else that wished her harm. My intentions wouldn’t change.”

“Would I still have found you engaged in battle as you were?” he asked. “The queen is right, you know. He is not…he is not my father.”

Gwenhwyfar pressed her lips together. It was an easy thing to say. But every time she thought of his name alone, every time she remembered the ghost’s face, all she saw was her father, his face streaked with tears as he carried a small, wet body in his arms.

“Elyan is here,” her voice shook.

Arthur’s eyes softened. “Gwen…”

“He is a knight. All grown.” She shrugged, blinking back tears. “He looks exactly like our mother.”

Arthur shifted closer to her, like he might try and touch her, hold her, but then did nothing further.

Gwenhwyfar dabbed under her eyes. “I may react strongly at times, but this is not about Uther.” She held her head higher. “I do not deny that I wanted to leave before, but I will stay until it is over.”

The hardness returned to Arthur’s eyes. “You are in enough danger at home,” he said. “Do you really need to further risk your life for a stranger? Someone whose fate doesn’t concern you in the slightest?”

“You told me once,” she countered, “that either we all matter, or none of us do. That includes her. And,” she added before he could try and argue, “you’ve no reason to preach to me, when you extended her help, too.”

“The woman looked certain she was going to die, I’m not heartless.”

“Exactly.”

He sighed. “In all this, did you ever stop to wonder,” he said, “what would become of the rest of us if something happened to you?” As if he couldn’t quite say it aloud, he added, for her mind only, 'What would become of me?'

All the will to fight drained out of her.

Gwenhwyfar’s fingers rose slowly of their own accord, to come and rest above the familiar spot above his heart, blindly tracing the lines of the mark beneath his tunic. His breathing faltered.

“I’ve thought of you often,” she said quietly, “since I’ve been here. How…my absence must have felt to you.” She offered him a faint smile. “I wished so badly to be out of here at first. You must believe it was because I wanted to return safely to our people. And because I thought of you.”

The troubled look in his eyes slowly cleared, like it had in the throne room as he held her, to instead become the one she ran from and loved best at the same time. Like she was the very heart that beat under her hand.

Arthur bent his head, falling to her like there was no way to help it, and her eyes fluttered shut when his lips touched hers, sweet and warm.

Guenevere called her impulsive. She couldn’t deny it, not when her fingers fisted in Arthur’s shirt to hold him closer, and her mouth opened under his to deepen their kiss. He tasted like magic on her tongue.

He moved when she did, wrapping his arms around her as she pushed a knee in between his, her free hand gripping the back of his neck. All thought slowly seeped from her mind until there was nothing else on it but the feeling of him, the desire to have him take her – to the bed, the table, the wall, she didn’t much care. These chairs looked sturdy enough to do the job, too. She was already half-poised to push him into one before she remembered herself.

She broke away, resting her forehead against his. “We said we wouldn’t anymore,” she whispered.

Arthur stilled under her hands, catching his breath. He lingered for only a moment, eyes closed, then pulled away. “You’re right.” He nodded a little. “You’re right…”

He moved away from her, and her right mind slowly returned with the distance he put between them. She stood in silence, watching him run a hand over his face.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I got carried away. It won’t happen again.”

She had once made that same claim.

All the wrong images went through her head, of nights spent in her tent, of Arthur pulling her in and Arthur pressing her hand to his heart as he asked her to let him speak the words that would bind him to her - of her silly daydreams and the pretty dresses in Guinevere’s closet.

Gwenhwyfar promptly smothered all of them.

“It’s alright,” she said. “These have been a trying couple of days.”

He agreed with a sigh that went through his whole body. Then suddenly cocked his head. “Emrys is calling for me.”

Only the Goddess knew what that was about. Gwenhwyfar nodded nonetheless. “You should go.”

He didn’t move right away, gaze lingering on her, but in the end, he slowly nodded in kind and made his way out.

The moment the door shut behind him, Gwenhwyfar sunk into a chair, and buried her face in her hands.

Chapter Text

The wind carried the sounds of the battle even over the batting of Kilgharrah’s powerful wings, moving under her as she held on to his neck.

Below, the planes and hills were alight with the soldiers’ torches, flickering in the moonlight and casting a light on the banners they wielded. Five armies meeting in a single battlefield was a sight to see from this high up.

The black wolf of Caerleon clashed with the horned lion of Nemeth, the former’s purple banners swallowed by an ever-growing sea of forest green. If Gwenhwyfar remembered it right, they had started this war as allies.

The grey wolf of Odin’s kingdom tore at them both, its yellow flags advancing like old teeth sinking into mottled purple-greenish flesh, in revenge for the death of some unfortunate prince, under some unfortunate circumstances. She’d forgotten what they were by now.

She never forgot who her enemy was, though, the one that had started all this to begin with. The golden dragon of Camelot billowed on a flag as red as the blood of her people the Pendragons had spilled, where it set fire to Odin’s flank, and where it crowded her army in a trap.

The Druids bore no colors, black as the night itself, and it was because of it that she saw them so easily, caught in a whirlwind and folding under Camelot’s attack, like a dark triskelion winding and crumbling in the red.

It might as well have been her heart crumbling, as she told Kilgharrah to land atop the highest hill, yet untouched by the battle, and let her dismount.

Her heart sank further still as she only watched them lose, standing in the shadow of Kilgharrah’s massive body. She blamed herself, for getting captured by one of Morgaine’s captains, for being dragged away from this battle before it had begun and leaving her people without a leader and without hope. She felt that she had only been returned now to witness their defeat. (When the story was later retold, of course, it said that she had returned to save them.)

“We’re going to lose,” she said hollowly, as the three arms of the triskelion broke and sank.

“If that were true, I would not have saved you from the witch.”

She cast her eyes, welling with tears, over her shoulder to meet Kilgharrah’s big, yellow ones. “Thank you for that,” she said, and even faintly smiled at the memory of him swooping down from the heavens to break her free. “You took a great risk. Morgaine could have taken you.” She swallowed. “Like she took Aithusa.”

Kilgharrah looked to the skies, where two of Morgaine’s dragons circled and breathed fire down upon the soldiers. Mercifully, both their scales shone golden, instead of pure, blinding white like Aithusa’s. It grieved Gwenhwyfar to no end, that Morgaine wielded not only great magic but the power to command dragons, to submit them to her will even when it was not their own.

Sometimes, Gwenhwyfar thought that, if the Goddess wanted her to win, she would not have put her at such a disadvantage to start with.

“The risk I took was necessary,” Kilgharrah spoke at length. “The future of Albion depends on the outcome of this war. Morgaine cannot be allowed to remain on the throne of Camelot. The Druids must be the ones to put an end to her.”

“We can’t!” Gwenhwyfar whirled around, and the tears fell down her cheeks. “She is too powerful! Camelot is too powerful! We cannot defeat them!”

“You must,” Kilgharrah said, and she gulped. “I did not risk my freedom for any Druid, young commander, I risked it for you. I cannot know for certain, but the destiny of this land may very well rest on your shoulders, Gwenhwyfar,” he went on. “You must find a way to prevail.”

Those same shoulders of hers slumped. “I can’t. I can’t face Morgaine, much less prevail against her.” She shook her head. “Much less in battle. I do not have the power.”

Kilgharrah was silent for a moment, then raised his head. “Then I shall grant you some.”

She frowned. “What?”

“Hold up your sword.”

Even as she automatically moved to obey, drawing it from the scabbard that hung at her back, she asked, “What are you doing?”

“I cannot tell you which choice to make to defeat Morgaine once and for all,” Kilgharrah said, “but if it is advantage in battle that you most need now, then that – that, I can give you.”

Gwenhwyfar raised her sword even before she truly understood what was happening. It floated up, out of her grip, to dance in the air before Kilgharrah.

“I will forge you a weapon of great power,” he said, “that is sure to bring you victory in battles to come. But this sword,” he added, “is forged for you, and you alone.”

Her heart beat to the rhythm of the war drums, so loudly that it drowned the sounds of the battle and the soldiers in her ears. She understood now what he proposed. To possess such a weapon was not be taken lightly, nor was Kilgharrah’s willingness to grant it to her. Even as she doubted she was meant for it, the idea returned an old, familiar feeling to her, that this war had nearly taken away entirely. Hope. To finally, finally have peace.

So, Gwenhwyfar swallowed, let out a shaky breath, and nodded once. (Later words retold that she had accepted this – nay, demanded it, with all the surety and conviction of the greatest of legends.)

Kilgharrah reared his great head, and Gwenhwyfar watched, transfixed, as mighty flames came out of his mouth to engulf her sword.

The fire burned brighter than anything else on this battlefield, and Gwenhwyfar’s breath caught as it licked at the blade, changing it before her very eyes, and as a great swell of magic burst from it, unlike anything she had ever felt. Great power, indeed.

She squinted her eyes against the light, and within it, saw her sword turn to gold and runes appear in the metal. 'Take me up,' they said.

So she did, gritting her teeth and reaching with both hands into the fire, to close around the pommel and pull it from the flames. They subsided but she remained standing, just before she would run off to join the battle, her new blade glinting in the moonlight as it pointed to the skies.

It did not feel like a blade at all anymore, but almost like a part of her, almost like a mere extension of her arm. (She would learn that it was, in fact, so much more than that.)

Gwenhwyfar chuckled faintly. “Huh.”

***

At the foot of the hill, Arthur slung Gwaine’s arm over his shoulder and dragged him away, yelling for the rest of his men to retreat. All ten of them.

As he listened to Gwaine mutter about his hopes that the afterlife was at least filled with wine, mead, and pretty men and women, he wondered what he had been thinking, running into this battle. He disowned his sister, fled his castle, and was followed by less than a dozen of his men – the only ones who would rather pledge their swords to his cause than Morgaine’s. He at least owed it to them to keep them alive long enough to see this great Camelot of the future he made them believe in.

“You’re not going to die,” he told Gwaine as he pressed forward.

What had he hoped? That he and his handful of men would somehow make a difference upon this battlefield? That they would manage to put a dent in Morgaine’s forces with their great skill and sheer power of will alone?

Yes, he had, he groused at himself, and berated himself for his folly. He needed more than a righteous cause and the faith of ten men to win.

He needed allies, was what he needed.

The top of the hill was set alight with a sudden burst of fire and Arthur stopped dead. On the hill, was a dragon, breathing fire upon a sword suspended in the air. In front of it, stood a woman, a long dark braid of hair falling down her back and a serpent marked upon her cheek.

She reached with her hands into the fire before it had even fully died out, pulling the sword from the flames and pointing it to the high heavens. It shone golden under the light of the moon.

Arthur stared, slack-jawed, Gwaine’s dead weight still hanging off his arm. “Who is that?”

***

“That was amazing,” Emrys gushed like an excited boy, even as he wrapped bandages around Ruadan’s head wound. Ruadan, too out of it to truly partake in this conversation, merely grunted in agreement.

“Did you hear Odin’s army sound retreat the moment they saw it?” asked Gogfran the half-giant, undeterred by the dozen arrow tips still sticking out of him.

“What will you name it?” Kara piped in with all of her youthful innocence, even as she was helping Mordred pull the arrows out of Gogfran’s back.

Despite the loss this battle caused that weighed heavy on her shoulders, Gwenhwyfar smiled at them, huddled in this tent and tending to each other’s wounds. That she might inspire them to fight brought her great pride, but they too inspired her in turn, still carrying hope and excitement despite all that they had suffered. Maybe they would prevail after all.

“Commander.”

The excited chatter ceased. Gwenhwyfar turned to the tent’s entrance, where the stranger she had come to know tonight stood. Arthur, he’d said his name was, when they had come upon each other on the battlefield – well, he had come upon her, really.

She had met him as she fought her way through Camelot’s forces, pushing them to retreat. A handful of soldiers had been closing down on her from both sides, and she had swung her blade at them, only to watch them fly back through the air before it had even touched them, first those on the right, then those on the left.

She had turned around, and there was Arthur, hand still up as the golden glow in his eyes subsided.

“May I have a word?” he was asking now.

Gwenhwyfar acquiesced, following him out.

“I wanted to thank you again,” he said as they walked through the camp side by side, “for allowing my men to tend to their injuries here.”

“It is in the nature of the Druids to offer help and shelter to all those who need it,” she said kindly.

He glanced at her, smiling faintly. “So I have heard.”

She smiled, too. “How are they?”

“They should make a full recovery,” Arthur said, sounding relieved.

“Good,” she said. “I’m glad.”

They came to stand at the camp’s highest point, offering the view to the tents that littered the grounds as far as the eye could see.

“I should thank you as well,” Gwenhwyfar said. “For how you helped me during the battle.”

“My debt of gratitude by far exceeds yours,” he dismissed. “You looked like you had the matter well in hand, with or without my assistance.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” she said, trying not to grin. The unexpectedly good outcome of this battle was truly doing wonders for her mood.

Arthur bit his lip, eyes shining with what might have been amusement, before they slipped to her back, where her new blade was neatly sheathed in its scabbard.

“It was impressive, what you did,” he said softly. “Your people are right to be excited.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Were you eavesdropping?”

“No?”

She shook her head, chuckling under her breath.

“Even if I had not heard it, I would have guessed it. A weapon as powerful as this,” Arthur went on, “is sure to bring you great glory in the battles to come.”

Gwenhwyfar looked over to him. “I did not forge this weapon for the glory of battle. It is not victory we seek,” she said. “We fight for peace.”

Arthur met her eyes again, his tone carefully neutral as he asked, “In the end, is it not the victorious who decide what peace should look like?”

“That’s not peace, it’s tyranny,” Gwenhwyfar countered.

“Yet you do hope you will win this war,” Arthur pointed out.

“Only to put an end to the forces that have caused it in the first place,” she said. “I believe that we can all coexist in peace. That what people, wherever they come from, truly want is to just walk free and without fear. All I hope to do, is to clear the path for such a future, that has been denied to most since the Pendragons came to power.” She shrugged. “Beyond that, who sits on the throne of Camelot or any other is none of my concern.” Whatever Emrys, and sometimes Kilgharrah, liked to say.

Arthur was watching her keenly. There was something about it – there was something about him, really, something irrevocably curious.

He had come from nowhere, bearing no marks of any kingdom, and with only a handful of men. A mercenary, perhaps? Caught in the middle of a messy battle through either poor judgement or happenstance. Yet a chain made of what was surely pure gold peeked from beneath his tunic, and he stood tall and proud, with his hands clasped behind his back and with far more grace than she had ever seen in a mercenary. He was far more handsome than any mercenary she had ever seen, too, but that was neither here nor there.

That he was a sorcerer on top of it all was a curious thing, too. The magic she sensed in him was young, as he was, raw and untrained, unlike the kind she sensed in some of her people – nothing like what she could once sense in Emrys, before Morgaine had taken it away.

She supposed that a handsome, noble-looking mercenary with magic was not the strangest thing she had ever encountered in this life. But she had never had a mercenary look at her with such intensity before.

She cleared her throat. “So,” she asked, “what brought you into this war? Where do you come from?”

He shifted from one foot to the other. “Camelot.”

Like so many others, she supposed. She was of Camelot, too, really, as were her kind. They had been for for centuries, until Uther Pendragon decided that they were impostors.

Gwenhwyfar made to inquire further, before the two things she did know about him came together in her mind. Unease slithered up her spine. “Arthur of Camelot?” she asked slowly.

Though he didn’t move an inch, there was no mistaking the discomfort in his expression.

She reached and grabbed for the golden chain around his neck, pulling it out from under his tunic. The pendant held the image of dragon, roughly carved into the gold, that twinkled in the light of the stars and campfires. The royal seal of the Pendragons.

She threw it back at him and drew her sword without a moment’s hesitation, pointing it straight at his heart. “You’re Prince Arthur of Camelot.”

He stiffened, looking from the tip of the blade then up to her, rubbing his lips together. “I was hoping we might talk about this.”

“You and I have nothing to talk about,” she spat, as the warriors nearest to them drew their own weapons at the sight, inching closer to form a half-circle.

Arthur’s eyes flickered to them, then back to her. “Gwenhwyfar – ”

“What is your true purpose here?” she demanded.

The full weight of her mistake came down upon her as she said it. The only reason they had withstood Camelot for so long were the powerful protections that kept their camp hidden, even from the likes of Morgaine. And now she had let her brother right into the heart of it, where he could lead the entire army straight to them. She had put everyone in peril by being too naïve and trusting.

All the confidence that had swelled in her since Kilgharrah had forged her sword drained away. So much for them prevailing.

'See what the men he brought with him are doing,' she barked an order at Lancelot, closest to her, who further relayed it to three warriors who took off in a run.

Arthur’s chest swelled against her sword as if he readied to speak and she promptly pressed it further into his skin.

“Did you hope to lead your sister to us?” she asked, fighting the angry tears that welled in her eyes. She hated that her voice shook slightly. Goddess, she was such a fool. “So she could finally finish what your father started?”

Arthur’s face twisted as if in distress. “I am not a spy,” he said with fervor. “You must believe me.”

“I don’t have to believe a word you say.”

He drew a sharp breath. “Morgaine didn’t send me. She wants me dead as much as she does you – I left Camelot,” he barreled on before she could speak. “I disowned her, and everything she stands for.”

Gwenhwyfar pressed her lips together. “I am meant to take your word as the truth, when you are the son of the man who killed my brother?”

His face fell. “I truly am sorry,” he said, and she hated that he sounded so genuine. “But I am no longer my father’s son any more than I am Morgaine’s brother. Please believe me.”

She wanted to. That was the worst part. There was something about him indeed, something that made her speak to him so freely in the first place, that made her want to believe him now. Either by its own mind or that foolish part of hers, her blade eased its pressure on his heart.

'Gwenhwyfar,' Lancelot spoke into her mind. 'What do you want us to do?'

Her hand trembled slightly around the pommel and she tried to hide it, as she tried to hide the tears that still welled in her eyes. 'I don’t know,' she admitted, only to Lancelot.

'What does your heart tell you?' he asked. 'You have good instincts, Gwenhwyfar, I have seen it time and again. You should rely on them now.'

She swallowed, still looking into Arthur’s eyes. His gaze never wavered, unerringly earnest and genuine, and slowly, as if guided by a careful hand, she lowered her sword.

It was only when it pointed safely to the ground that Arthur breathed in relief. “Thank you.”

Gwenhwyfar gulped, looking away for the first time. 'Send scouts to check the perimeter,' she told Lancelot, and knew it lacked some of its commanding edge. 'Look to the skies for any signs of Morgaine’s dragons.'

Lancelot nodded, and took the others with him to see it done.

When it was just her and Arthur left, she finally spoke aloud again. “This doesn’t mean I trust you. My lord.” She took care to speak the title with as much disdain as she could muster.

“I understand,” he said simply. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “You asked me before, what my purpose was here. I had hoped, um, to make you see that…we are natural allies.”

She did look at him again, out of sheer surprise. He was certainly bold, she’d give him that.

“There would be nothing natural about this alliance,” she said.

“I disagree.” He took a step closer, then reconsidered at her warning look. “I wish to see Morgaine dethroned as much as you do. And you said,” his tone gentled, “that you hope for peace. So do I. I believe in a Camelot that is fair and just for all. That it belongs to all those who wish to call it home, not just those who one person deems worthy. And I wish,” he added with conviction, “for a future where this land might be spoken of, not because of the strife that divides us, but the peace that unites us. I am as willing to fight for that as you are.”

Her heart fluttered in her chest. Maybe it was a trick of her nerves, but her sword seemed to vibrate the faintest bit in her hand, too.

'Use your head,' she reminded herself, and of course, the moment she did, it became clear what he was truly asking for. “You want me to help you take the throne of Camelot?”

He shrugged. “You said you do not care who sits on it.”

She chuckled bitterly. “You think that I would strike down one Pendragon only to pave the way for another?”

He deflated a little. “I told you I do not think of myself as one of them anymore.”

“You truly expect me to believe,” she asked incredulously, “that you would abandon all that your father preached, and all of his legacy, just like that?”

Arthur rubbed his lips together. “I loved my father,” he said quietly, nodding. “I loved Morgaine, too. But…it never changed what they were.” He shrugged. “And I tried, believe me, I tried to make them see things differently. Especially my father. It was just beyond my ability.”

He sighed, resigned. “So, in the end, I had to make a choice. The only one that was right. My father is dead now so I can only condemn his memory, but my sister…my sister leaves me no choice but to forget that I was ever her brother. And I must treat her as such. It is as simple as that.”

Her traitorous heart fluttered again.

“Because of her own choices, we are now inevitably enemies,” Arthur said, “and I believe that it, inevitably, makes you and I friends.”

She…really wouldn’t go that far.

“I will do everything in my power to prove it to you,” he added, as if sensing her thoughts.

It was at times like these that she wondered why anyone had chosen her to lead this fight. Yes, the druidic teachings placed promises of great things on her name, but more often than not, she wondered if they had all, as a sort, just gotten too drunk one night and made a huge mistake. Then dragged the likes of Kilgharrah into it.

Because no one in their right mind would ever place the decision to trust Arthur, son of Uther the Tyrant, on her conscience. But, “the destiny of this land may very well rest on your shoulders,” Kilgharrah had said, and, “trust your instincts,” Lancelot had, and so, she supposed, it was the best she could do for now. At least until she could find Emrys to talk her out of it. (He never did.)

At length, she sheathed her blade again, and said, “You can start by cleaning after the wounded.”

She was not above admitting that it was only out of pettiness that she had given him the most thankless task in this camp – that he would, obviously, perform under the watchful eye of at least ten of her warriors, assuming the scouts reported nothing amiss beforehand.

Arthur took it readily nonetheless, even smiling a bit. “As you wish.”

“Good.” She nodded. “Yes. Alright.”

She didn’t know what to do next. She didn’t want to stay and she couldn’t leave him unsupervised either, but, as she fidgeted from the uncertainty of it all, Arthur slowly extended his hand to her.

Gwenhwyfar sighed. Here goes nothing, she thought, and clasped his arm like she would an ally’s.

One year later, he held her arm again, only this time it was to keep it from reaching for Excalibur.

“He’s only going for his purse,” Arthur said.

He was right, of course, and where he sat at the long table in the middle of their camp, his double did indeed pull only a linen purse from his belt, the contents of which he was now showing off to the rest of the gathered crowd. Gwaine looked around, then slid two coins into his pocket.

“You’re right,” she sighed, and relaxed her arm. Arthur’s fingers slid away from it only slowly.

“Why is it,” he asked, “that whenever someone who looks like me shows up at this camp, you always assume it is somehow a ploy of Morgaine’s?”

The corner of her mouth lifted into a reluctant smile. “She has not tried to strike against us in half a year,” Gwenhwyfar said. “You can understand why I am wary.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “But even you must admit that if Morgaine had somehow managed to find us, the great weapon she would send to destroy us would not be,” he paused for a moment, “them.”

They were three. And they had come to meet themselves in a different world, apparently.

As she watched the one they called their king – the one who bore Arthur’s likeness –, she did have to admit that he was no formidable weapon. Unlike her Arthur, he had a beard that made it look like a squirrel had died on his face and sat with his elbows on the table, shoulders slumped instead of straight. Unlike her Arthur, he laughed at everything and never shut up about anything, and thought that spitting in the face of the balance of the worlds was fun and educational. Unlike her Arthur, the first thing he had said upon meeting her was, “You look like my wife.”

He had brought said wife forward, too, a splitting grin on his face – like this was all terribly exciting, somehow –, and Gwenhwyfar’s eyes slipped to her now, where she sat quietly next to her husband, dressed in a queen’s clothes from head to toe.

The Traveler and his wife could not be more different than her and Arthur, but when they exchanged a silent glance and a soft smile, she swore she saw herself and hers.

Something tightened deep in Gwenhwyfar’s chest and she swallowed, then studiously avoided looking at Arthur. “I wish the others weren’t so taken by them,” she said.

Not all of them, granted, but enough that it irked her – including Emrys, who bit into one of the coins being passed around, for reasons she could not comprehend, and earned himself a disgusted look from his double. Merlin, he’d said his name was, and Emrys had laughed, saying, “What sort of a name is that?”

“It’s been a while since something exciting happened around camp,” Arthur said. “I think they’re just enjoying the novelty of it.”

“But we are Druids,” she despaired. “We cannot condone this sort of thing.”

Arthur sighed softly. “Know when you are beaten, Commander.”

Gwenhwyfar ducked her head, a smile making its way to her lips of its own accord.

***

By popular demand, the Travelers stayed with them for three days. In that time, Gwenhwyfar had prayed to the Goddess to keep her sanity, drunk a gallon of wine to aid the process, and decided she did not like her double. She did not care for Arthur’s either, though he seemed fascinated by her – once, she agreed to a friendly match just for the satisfaction of knocking him to the ground, and he’d thanked her for the privilege.

He’d made Emrys rich in the process, too, as the latter collected wagers – a habit he had picked up since losing his magic and that Gwenhwyfar still despaired over – from everyone looking to see this fight. Gwenhwyfar would never admit, not to any living soul, that she had been looking to see how Excalibur would fare against another just like it, too. And according to Emrys, the Traveler had actually bet against himself in the fight.

When he and his companions disappeared in a great burst of light, she deemed it cause for celebration and hoped to never see them again. (She did, a year or so later.)

The singing, dancing and drinking dragged on into the night, until the only ones left awake at the table under the open skies were her and Arthur. He’d been quiet all evening, more so than usual, only nursing his drink and contributing little to the conversations around him, and so, inevitably, made her want to know what was bothering him.

Gwenhwyfar threw a blanket over a snoring Emrys, sprawled in his chair and drooling on the table, then made her way to where Arthur sat.

He glanced up from his goblet when she settled in next to him, offering her a faint smile.

“You’ve been quiet tonight.” She kept her voice low, though even a battle horn would probably not wake the few that had, like Emrys, fallen asleep right there on the table.

Arthur drummed his fingers against his goblet. “I’m celebrating on the inside.”

She hummed, then took a deep breath, closing her eyes in relief. “I thought they would never leave.”

“They weren’t so bad,” Arthur said softly.

Gwenhwyfar turned to him, ready to tell him all the ways in which he was wrong about that, then promptly forgot what she was going to say when she saw his eyes. They were a little glassy, like maybe he’d had a bit too much to drink when she wasn’t paying attention, but it didn’t mask the look he was giving her. There was something about it, something that just made her helplessly flustered and tongue-tied.

She cleared her throat. “Yes, well,” she found her voice, “you didn’t have to contend with your double like I did.”

“He did seem quite taken by you,” Arthur agreed.

She rolled her eyes in response.

“But then,” Arthur went on, “who could blame him?”

He froze her in the spot again, with that look in his eyes and that voice that she swore felt like a caress against her skin.

“It’s just because I look like his wife,” she croaked.

“You do.” Arthur nodded, a bit sluggishly. “But you are also, all on your own,” he added, voice softening, “mighty, and strong, and…a thing of legend. Unlike anything else in this world.”

When he slowly reached his hand to truly touch her, tracing the lines of the marking on her face with the pad of his thumb, all the sounds of the night – the crickets, the crackling fires and Emrys’s snores – faded to noise in her ears.

“I doubt there will ever be another like you, Gwen,” Arthur said. Only he ever used that name for her. “In any world.”

Why was her heart beating so fast? “Umm…”

The tips of his fingers slid down her cheek, along her jaw and under her chin, tipping it up just so. Maybe it was all the wine she had drunk, but she blinked and he seemed all that much closer.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” she blurted out. He stilled. “That – that they’re married, in their world. You and I, we’re – we’re not them, we’ve got nothing in common with them, it doesn’t – ” She swallowed. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

He was confused, she decided. She could understand that. Their doubles had confused her, too. But they were not them, and it did not mean anything. And she just had to keep telling herself that, until she really remembered it.

“I know,” Arthur said so quietly she barely heard him, letting his hand fall away. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, and she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

Her heart still rattled in her chest, so she reached for the nearest cup on the table with some wine still in it, and downed it all in one mighty gulp.

“You know, um,” Arthur was speaking to his own cup, “among many things, I heard them speak of Lancelot. He’s a knight where they’re from. He’s alive.”

She welcomed the change in topic. The topic itself, not so much.

Lancelot had died. Gone missing the last time they had confronted Morgaine, when she had ambushed them on their way to Ismere, and Gwenhwyfar had come home with only his bloodied cloak and sword to put into the funeral pyre. She had not cried the whole way back, not until they had lit the pyre, but the tears had come then, and run down her face right up until the last ember had died. Arthur had only laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, and left her to her grief.

“It only goes to show that we are alike in appearance only,” was all she said on the matter now.

Arthur hummed. “I know you cared for him a great deal,” he said after a moment.

Why wasn’t he letting this go?

“But I never asked, um, about you and him.” He looked to her again. “If there was more to it than that.”

How this was the appropriate time to finally ask, she had no idea. Her mind swam a little from the wine she’d just knocked back and his proximity distracted her, and so she didn’t have the will to try and figure it out either.

“There wasn’t,” she said, shrugging. “We’d known each other a long time. And we were good friends.” She rubbed her lips together. “Why do you want to know?”

His eyebrow quirked a bit. “I wondered if, perhaps…his death has made it so your heart is closed to others.”

She frowned. “Why should you care?”

Her mother had once said that she invited trouble. Gwenhwyfar couldn’t argue with that, not when that look returned to Arthur’s eyes, and there was no mistaking the way his head bent towards her anymore.

He paused inches away, gaze flickering to her mouth. Gwenhwyfar held her breath as he waited – for her to say something or pull away, but she did neither, because this time her muddled brain took too long to catch up with her heart, and then Arthur was leaning closer still, until they nearly breathed the same air.

Know when you are beaten, was her mind’s last, unhelpful contribution before it left her entirely.

When Arthur pressed his lips to hers, they were soft, and warm, and tasted of the fruit he liked to put in his wine.

Every impulse, thought and daydream she’d ever had about him came back to her, and Gwenhwyfar sunk into the kiss, parting her mouth under his as he pulled her closer, the heat of his hand at her back. Arthur made a soft noise at the back of throat when she let him slip his tongue inside her mouth and deepen their kiss, and she was blissfully aware only of him, of his touch, and the magic that flared in him and teased her senses.

She had never been put under a spell, but she imagined that this was what it felt like.

Emrys snored loudly in the night, and the spell broke as Gwenhwyfar gasped quietly, scrambling away. She pretended not to see the way Arthur’s face fell.

She blamed their kiss on the wine, the Travelers, and a lapse in judgement, and never spoke of it again. (Until the time she kissed him because she thought she was going to die. Then the time he kissed her because he thought she was going to die. Then the time they kissed because neither of them had died. And then she stopped keeping count after that.)

“Don’t worry about me.”

Emrys looked up from where he was tying the bandage around her forearm for the third time, and gave a quiet sigh. “You ask for the impossible.”

Gwenhwyfar offered him a tired smile. “I am fine, truly,” she said. “It’s just a couple of scrapes and bruises.”

“That isn’t.” Emrys pointed to her eye, where she still felt the sting of the half-crescent cut that had been inflicted to her.

“It will heal, too. Eventually.”

“The dagger was enchanted,” Emrys said. “It will take some time.”

Probably about the same time it would take her to forget the circumstances under which she had received it.

She shrugged. “So be it.”

For a while, Emrys only sat quietly on the edge of her bed, in the warmth of her tent, just fiddling with the bandage again. Eventually, he said, “You did the right thing.”

“I know,” she said, even as her voice caught on the words.

She cast her eyes to where Excalibur lay propped against her cupboards. Since it had been forged, she imagined she would use it for many things.

Never to stop Lancelot’s heart, though.

“There was no way to bring him back,” Emrys spoke, telling her again the same thing she had been telling herself. “Morgaine made sure of that when she destroyed the cauldron of Arianrhod.”

“I know.”

A year after their last meeting, they had seen Morgaine again. And again, it had been an ambush. Only this time, she had shown them new depths to her cruelty.

“He wasn’t Lancelot anymore,” Emrys was still speaking. “The Tiene Diaga – ”

“I know what it does,” Gwenhwyfar said. It tortured the will out of a person until it could be replaced with that of another forever. She was well-aware.

She was also well-aware that she had practically handed Lancelot off to this fate.

After a moment, Emrys covered her hand with his, wrapping his fingers around hers until she looked up at him again. “The true Lancelot,” he said, “would have wanted you to do this. You know that.”

Gwenhwyfar swallowed. “Yeah.”

“What Morgaine had made him into was no life, it was merely an existence. And there was no way to restore him to what he once was.”

Gwenhwyfar was nodding along.

“The Lancelot we knew was gone the moment she took him," Emrys finally said. "If anything, Gwenhwyfar, you’ve freed him.”

She nodded strongly this time, touching a hand to the cut around her eye. When she had looked into the mirror, it had been angry and red, leaving bloody streaks on her cheek, and stinging from the tears that had run down her face along with the blood.

“At least he left me something to remember him by, huh?” she whispered wryly.

Emrys pursed his lips, sighing as he retraced the path her fingers had taken with his eyes. “I do not think,” he eventually said, “that is what this should remind you of. Lancelot…was brave, and noble, and our friend. That is how he should be remembered – especially by you. That – ” he pointed to her cut – “was not dealt to you by him, only by Morgaine. And all it should remind you of, is that you’ve earned it saving Arthur from her.”

He made her smile. “You’re very wise, Emrys.”

“I am. And you,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder, “did what was right. It should not burden you that you’ve made this choice. It only shows how strong you are.”

“Alright,” she agreed for his benefit and opened her arms to receive his hug when he leaned in. She tucked her head into his shoulder and shut her eyes tight.

“Lancelot is dead,” Emrys said, and his voice shook for the first time. “But Arthur lives. As do you.” He held her tighter. “That is what matters most.”

Gwenhwyfar exhaled, a long, deep breath. She glanced up over Emrys’s shoulder - and there was Arthur.

He hesitated at the entrance to the tent. “I can come back later,” he said quietly.

“No,” Gwenhwyfar assured, straightening out of Emrys’s arms, “it’s alright.”

Emrys looked between them, then said, “I’ll just go, then.” He rose and turned to leave, though she thought she caught him giving her some kind of look out of the corner of his eye. Something passed between him and Arthur, too, though she couldn’t tell what that was either.

Arthur watched him go, the flap falling down behind him, before he turned to meet her eyes. She held his gaze and swallowed in the silence, then patted the spot on her bed that Emrys had vacated. She shifted atop the covers, tucking her bare legs to the side and adjusting her sleeping tunic over her knees.

Arthur came to her like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and sat down next to her just as heavily, though carefully.

He took a deep breath, and said, “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” she said, shaking her head.

“He came after me.” Arthur rubbed his lips together. “And I…hesitated, because it was…well, Lancelot. Or whatever one might call that creature that was left in his stead after Morgaine was through with him.” He cleared his throat. “The point is, he got the better of me, and it is only because of that that you were put in a position where you had to make that kind of choice. And I am sorry.”

She wanted to say again that there was no reason for that, that the choice had been easy because it had been the only one, one that she had made like the strong, clear-headed leader Emrys wanted her to be - but her throat was suddenly too tight to speak.

She’d led that empty vessel that looked like Lancelot away from Arthur, and she’d fought him and won, but she’d also begged – begged, and cried, and yelled for him to remember who he was, to remember her, to fight against Morgaine’s magic, even when she knew he couldn’t. Even when he aimed the dagger at her throat and got her in the face, and even when she could sense that he was gone.

In the end, her choice had looked like a weeping woman plunging her sword into a man’s heart with shaking hands, as blood and tears ran down her face.

But one thing did remain true.

“He was already lost,” she said, pressing her lips together and affecting a brave face. “I did the only thing I could do.”

“It was the right thing,” Arthur said, “and if he had been in his right mind, Lancelot would have said the same.”

“I know,” Gwenhwyfar repeated. And she’d only have to a few more times before she truly accepted it.

“Nonetheless, I truly am sorry,” Arthur went on. “I know how much he meant to you.”

She gulped. “The Lancelot I knew has been gone for months. I’ve mourned him many times over. At least now, I know he actually rests in peace.” She’d carried his body back. She’d watched it burn in the funeral pyre this time.

Arthur nodded absently before looking her over. After a moment, he reached for her bandaged arm. Though it pulled at her injury, Gwenhwyfar turned her hand over in his grasp and held on to his wrist. His pulse fluttered under her fingers.

“There is really no need,” she said softly.

“Gwen,” was all he said in return, and because he was as stubborn as he was good and true, she only sighed and relaxed her arm.

Arthur held it with care, then began undoing the bandage that Emrys had spent the better part of half an hour putting into place. “I also wanted to say thank you,” he told her as he worked. “You saved my life.”

She smiled for him, even as tears began to sting her eyes. “Well,” she said, “I wasn’t going to let anything happen to you.”

Arthur’s mouth lifted into a small smile, too, to match the soft look in his eyes and the soft touch of his hands as he tended to her scraped-up arm. She would move this Earth for him, she realized, to find him and keep him from harm.

Like she never had for Lancelot.

Her tears burned hotter and she tried to duck her head to hide them, but Arthur noticed anyway. “What is it?”

“Lancelot may have been already gone when I ran him through,” her voice was thick, “but it is my fault he became that way in the first place.”

“Gwen – ”

“It is!” Her head snapped up. “I left him there. I just accepted that he was gone and I left him there, where Morgaine could just take him and torture him until his will was no longer his own, and I – I should have looked for him,” she admitted, to Arthur if not to Emrys. “I should have, and I didn’t, and all that he suffered is because of me.”

A frown was etched on Arthur’s brow as he listened, deepening the longer she talked. He sighed under his breath, then ran his fingers down her arm until he could hold her hand. “We did look for him then, remember?”

“For five minutes,” she scoffed.

“It was all we could spare,” Arthur said, and went on before she could argue, “We assumed he was dead for good reason – he was struck with powerful magic and disappeared with it, what else were you meant to think? And we had to get out of there, to save ourselves. You did the right thing then, too, Gwen, do not doubt it.”

She sniffled. “But – ”

He squeezed her hand. “Lancelot himself,” he insisted, “would have told you to run then, you know he would – as he would have told you to put an end to whatever hell Morgaine had condemned him to now. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of, my lo – ” He broke off mid-word, then cleared his throat. “Gwen. The fault for all this lies with Morgaine, not you. Never you.” He held her gaze. “Tell me you believe that.”

Gwenhwyfar’s heart swelled even as some part of it continued to break, and reached out to lay a gentle hand on his cheek in gratitude. “Maybe after I’ve slept on it,” she allowed.

“That’s good enough,” Arthur allowed in turn, nodding ever so slightly. Intentionally or not, the corner of his mouth brushed her palm with the movement, and her heart, naturally, now skipped a beat.

She dropped her hand back atop the covers as Arthur finally muttered a spell to heal the scrapes and cuts on her forearm. They disappeared under the warm, soothing touch of his magic, and he concluded with satisfaction, “There.”

His face fell as he lifted his eyes to the cut on her face, though. “But I cannot heal that.” He still traced the curve of it with the tip of his finger, even if he never actually touched her skin.

“It’s nothing,” Gwenhwyfar whispered.

“It will leave a scar.”

She shrugged, blowing out a deep breath. “It’s just a scar,” she decided.

Though one wouldn’t know that by the way Arthur was frowning at it, saying nothing.

“You look upset,” she remarked.

“I am,” Arthur said at length, and she blinked at just how much he suddenly sounded that way, too. “I was worried. You went off to fight Lancelot, and then we couldn’t find you – there was blood on the ground, Emrys said it was yours, I – ” He didn’t go on, not out loud, but to her mind, he added, 'I thought I’d lost you.'

“Oh,” she said softly. “I – ”

'I don’t know what I would do if I did.'

Gwenhwyfar licked her lips. 'If anything should happen to me,' she said what she always did, 'you will still have the throne of Camelot. I promise.'

Arthur shook his head slowly. 'That’s not what I meant.'

“Umm…”

“And it isn’t true,” Arthur said. “You are as important to this endeavor as I am. I know I will never sit on the throne of Camelot without you.”

There was something strange in his eyes, like determination, as he scooted closer to her on the bed, pressing one hand to her back to pull her closer still and taking one of hers with the other, only to raise it up and hold it against his heart. It beat unevenly under her palm.

She didn’t understand what he was doing, not even when he began chanting again, because he was so, so close, and his eyes were so beautiful and blue and golden, and a haze descended on her mind. But the strings of the old words began taking shape in some part of her consciousness and she snapped out of it when she recognized them.

“Arthur, no!” She tried to pull her hand away, but he held it in place.

“Let me do this,” he said, and sounded almost like he was pleading with her.

He was out of his mind. “Do you even understand what you’re doing?”

“Perfectly. Emrys told me how.”

Then Emrys was as mad as he was. “Arthur,” she tried to make him see sense, “this rite is from the old days, and it cannot be undone, it would bind you to me forever – ”

“I know,” he said simply.

“I understand, alright,” she spoke with more urgency, “that you worry about me, I worry about you, too, believe me, I do, but this is madness – you will regret this!” (In truth, he never actually did.) “You will, you will see it was a mistake one day, and you will regret doing it, and – do you even know that it was the warrior who would do this for their liege? If anyone should be doing this, it’s me, for you, not the other way around – ”

“No, Gwen…” He still held her hand. “Listen – ”

“You’ve been with us for a long time, but there are clearly some things you still don’t understand, this – this is not just some way for you to find me if I am ever lost in an ambush again, Arthur, it is a deep, and lasting bond, and it will not be broken even in death.” She couldn’t believe Emrys had agreed to this. “And if something were to happen to me, do you know how that would feel?”

“The purpose of this,” Arthur said, almost calmly, and she had evidently not put a single dent in his madness, “is to make sure that does not happen.”

Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn. “There’s a reason this isn’t the done thing anymore! And it’s because despite their best efforts, the liege lords would die and the pain would be so great that the warriors would eventually take their own lives just to put an end to it! It is not worth the – ”

“It is to me.”

Gwenhwyfar blew out a breath, and looked through the top of her tent to the heavens, wondering why the Goddess had abandoned her.

“Arthur, why are you doing this?” She sighed.

“Like I said,” his voice never changed, though his fingers did tighten their hold on hers, “I thought I’d lost you. And it wasn’t the first time, but each time it happens, it frightens me more than the time before. Which is why I need to have a way to know if you are ever in trouble, if you are hurt, and if so, a way to find you. We all do. Because, despite what you think, you are important. Perhaps even more so than I am.”

“There are dozens who can lead an army,” she leaned in with all of the desperation of a person trying to reason with a madman, “only you can sit on the throne of Camelot.”

For the first time, Arthur didn’t answer right away, and she nearly mistook the little flicker in his eyes for a return of his right mind. But he shook his head, and said, “No. No one can replace you, Gwen. And you are precious, not just the kingdom,” he nearly whispered. “At least, you are to me.”

Her throat felt too tight again, but it had nothing to do with guilt, or regret, or Lancelot, only Arthur and the way his heart still beat in uneven patterns under her palm. The air in the room changed, as did the expression on Arthur’s face, until he looked at her the same way he had half-a-year ago, in the dead of a night much like this one, when he had told her she was unlike anything else in this world.

“Gwen,” he said, “just let me do this.”

She swallowed, let out a shaky breath, and nodded once. (When people who did not know them retold this story, they said that she had understood then what he was really saying, and that to agree was her way of saying it back.)

Arthur’s eyes were on fire once more and she could not look away from him as he resumed the spell, making magic flow from him, through her, and back again. For a moment, their bond was like a living thing, dancing between them, a piece of her coming to rest inside him, and through it all, he still spoke in the old tongue, clutching her hand to his chest. When it settled, he leaned over, and pressed his lips to her forehead to seal the rite. In its lone corner, Excalibur glowed faintly.

Arthur’s heart beat steadily now. He moved only slightly, dropping his head until his forehead touched hers. “There,” he said, like this was the same thing as taking care of a bump on her head or a scrape on her arm.

Gwenhwyfar looked down, parting the collar of his tunic with her fingers, and right there, right above his heart, was the mark of a serpent to match hers. Arthur reached blindly with his free hand to touch the one she bore, cupping the side of her head and tracing the lines of the mark with his thumb.

“How does it feel?” she whispered.

“Not so different yet.” His eyes were closed, but his mouth lifted into a slow smile. 'You’re still with me.'

'I can’t believe I let you do this.'

“Save your regrets for the morning,” he said, and his breath brushed her cheek and mouth. “And this was my choice,” he added, unhurried. “One that I did not make lightly, you know. Despite what you may think.”

“Oh, Arthur.” She took a moment to watch him when he wasn’t looking, from his blond mop of hair, down the handsome lines of his face and to his mouth, that she remembered the soft, full feeling of so well, and so very temptingly close to hers now – Goddess help her, he was close enough that she could count the eyelashes that cast shadows on his cheeks.

On an impulse, she raised a hand to touch his face, too, drawing a path from his temple to his jaw. It clenched under her fingers. 'Gwen…'

Her thumb hovered over his lower lip, and when she looked up, he was watching her, pulling away only far enough to truly look at her. His eyes never leaving hers, he placed a kiss on the pad of her thumb, then turned his head to suck one into the palm of her hand. Her breath caught.

His mouth twitched before he pressed it to her forehead again, then her brow, her temple, and then her cheek, brushing his nose against hers. By the time he reached her mouth, it was already parted for him, and her fingers were twisting in his hair.

Save your regrets for the morning, she thought faintly, hopeless as she’d always been when it came to him, and closed her fist around as handful of his tunic as she lay back, pulling him with her. In the end, that she would fall into bed with him hardly even surprised her at all.

But she blamed it on their emotions, and their new bond, and a dozen other things – even as they lay together after, and Arthur traced the lines of the triskelion marked upon her back with his fingers –, and swore it would never happen again. (It happened again.)

Chapter Text

“Am I disturbing you?” Gwen asked gently.

From where she sat in a chair, Gwenhwyfar gave a vague shrug. All the injuries that she had previously had were entirely gone from her skin. “It’s alright.”

Gwen glanced around the quarters. “I didn’t think I would find you alone.”

“Arthur’s gone – somewhere.” Gwenhwyfar waved a hand through the air. “Em – Merlin wanted him for something.” She let out a soft sigh. “Did you need anything?”

“I was wondering if you might accompany me somewhere?”

“Where to?” Gwenhwyfar rose to her feet almost immediately, as if she’d just been waiting for a reason to get out of these chambers. Or for a distraction.

“My home in the lower town,” Gwen said quietly. “I…” She didn’t quite know how to put it into words, that she longed for the comfort of her father’s house, but Gwenhwyfar didn’t ask for an explanation either way, merely continuing with the task of strapping her sword in place again.

They were soon joined by Guenevere, knocking on the door with some hesitance, and sighing in relief the moment she saw them. “Oh, there you are. My husband and Dragoon have gone to retrieve the Horn from Morgana,” she said. “I was, um, looking for some company.”

Gwen smiled faintly. “Would you care for a walk to the lower town as well?”

She could practically see Guenevere weighing the options in her head: to stay in this castle alone, with Uther on the loose, or to go wherever the only thing that could stop him went, too? The latter won out. “I’d be happy to.”

The three of them donned cloaks to hide their identities and snuck out of the castle under Gwen’s guidance, avoiding guards and keeping to side corridors and dark corners. They tiptoed down an open passageway on their way out of the courtyard, and Gwenhwyfar’s head popped over the parapet every now and again to make sure the coast was still clear.

It popped over again, then froze in the spot. Gwen and Guenevere lifted own their heads to peek over the edge, too.

“Which ones are they?” Guenevere asked, looking to the two figures sneaking away under the cover of darkness as well, towards the Darkling Woods.

Arthur and Merlin, there was no doubt about it. “Mine,” Gwen said, frowning.

“Where are they going?” Gwenhwyfar asked.

Gwen sighed. “I’ve no idea.”

They avoided a patrol, a pair of drunkards stumbling out of the tavern and, inexplicably, a wandering chicken, as Guenevere grumbled about getting dirt on her shoes and Gwenhwyfar muttered something about legends of threes, and Mothers, Maidens and Crones.

Easing the door of her house open, Gwen winced as it creaked on its hinges, then held it aloft so the others could slip inside. She moved easily in the dark, gathering and lighting candles, then let out a soft breath as, little by little, light filled her home again.

She had been so sad to leave it, even more so when it happened earlier than she had expected, and now, there was a chance she might never have to. Even when it had been her own suggestion, that thought saddened her even more.

Guenevere cast a look around. “You have a lovely home,” she said. Gwen wasn’t sure she believed her.

“It’s got walls,” Gwenhwyfar said and shrugged, which, Gwen supposed, was good enough for a woman who had, evidently, spent her life living in tents.

She proceeded to toe off her boots and settle on the small bed, sitting cross-legged atop the covers, as Guenevere made her way to the bench by the table, saying, “It reminds me of the home Arthur grew up in.”

Gwen smiled faintly, even as her heart sank a little, thinking of Arthur in her home, standing in the very spot where she stood now, bending his head to kiss her. It was such a long time ago.

“You’ve been to it?” she asked as she puttered about, fetching goblets and water for them to drink. This morning’s fresh bucket still sat untouched on the stove.

“He took me to his village once,” Guenevere said, nodding in thanks when Gwen handed her a full goblet. “I rather enjoyed the journey, actually.” Her voice softened as she continued, “I think it was the first time that I truly saw what would make him a good king.”

Gwen nodded along absently, handing a silent Gwenhwyfar her own refreshment and expecting to hear a story about the king and his people, smiling at a memory of her own, of Arthur, in the middle of the lower town, handing a gathered crowd back their coin against Uther’s orders.

Except the rest of Guenevere's story went thus, “The village came under attack by bandits while we were there. Arthur spared none, cut most of the bandits down himself, actually. It showed he could govern with a strong hand, I was impressed.”

That – was not as heartwarming as Gwen had anticipated, but that Guenevere valued a strong hand and a dose of bloodlust did somehow not surprise her either.

“And what about you? When did you know that you would be a good queen?” Gwen asked quietly, choosing to sit at the opposite end of the bench. Guenevere turned to her as if in surprise.

“Do you know what, forget I asked.” Gwen shook her head the next moment. “You probably never had any doubt.”

“No, I don’t think I did,” Guenevere said, and Gwen was just about to agree and tell her to leave it be when she followed it with, “But there is a difference, between not having doubts and knowing for certain. And I suppose - ” she rubbed her lips together in thought - “that for me, it was not just one moment where I simply knew. I did the best I could. The best I knew how. To counsel Arthur, to help him build the kingdom he wanted Camelot to be. And, after all these years, it is better off than how we found it. So, I like to think…that that proves I’ve been a good queen.” She shrugged delicately, and concluded, “Time showed.”

Gwen almost laughed at how simple that answer was. It told her everything and exactly nothing.

Studying her with a careful eye, Guenevere asked, “Do you believe that time has shown differently for you so far?”

“Time has not yet shown anything for me,” Gwen said. 

“Really?” Guenevere raised her eyebrows. “Because I’ve seen how your king is with you. He looks to you, he values your opinion. A strong and clever opinion, I might add. That cannot have just happened.”

“No, it did not.” Gwen chuckled softly. “I never, um, lacked conviction in my beliefs – of the place Camelot should be, of what a good king should be. Or even that someone like me could be a worthy queen. I just never thought it could be me.”

She picked at the little bit of wax that had stuck to her table, from the night that Arthur had asked her to marry him. That, too, seemed like such a long time ago now.

“But then Arthur,” she sighed, “listened to me, and cared for me, and often said that I was right. Said that he valued my opinion above all others. He thought I was…wise.” With her heart in her throat, she added, “And so I…started thinking that, maybe, I did belong on the throne. With him.”

But then, maybe not.

“I hope,” Guenevere said slowly, “that it was not our presence here that has made you doubt it now.”

Gwen did not wish to lie so she said nothing at all.

“Oh.” Guenevere’s face fell, as Gwenhwyfar only muttered a simple, “sorry,” from her spot on the bed.

“Do not feel bad. I am glad of it, actually,” Gwen reassured. “It is better to recognize a mistake before it is made than - ” she drew a deep breath - “after it cannot no longer be undone.”

“Where are we going?”

Merlin held back another sigh, and turned to Arthur with his most confident look. “You’ll see,” he said. “But it will be worth it. I promise.”

Arthur did sigh. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

Merlin admitted that he, too, was a little surprised that he had managed to talk Arthur into following him away from the city and into the dead of night, with an argument that mostly just amounted to, “Trust me.”

“I should be back at the palace,” Arthur was saying, “there is so much going on, I should be – ” He deflated from one word to the next, and stared forlornly at the forest ground. “Who am I trying to fool? I’ve been entirely useless in this situation so far. What do I hope to do about it now?”

And therein lay precisely the reason why Merlin had taken him out of the palace and onto this journey, after he had found him in his chambers, staring at an inkwell and engaging in an endless cycle of self-doubt – because of something either Uther or Gwen had said, Merlin still wasn’t too clear on that part.

He, of course, could have told the king that they had taken this path north to go to a very particular spot of the Darkling Woods, to there find a very particular object that he had once placed in a very particular stone. But where would be the fun in that?

“You’re not useless, Arthur,” Merlin said.

“Well, what good have I been?” Arthur argued. “I’ve only made things worse.”

“We all make mistakes.”

“Only mine never seem to end.”

“Arthur…”

Arthur shook his head to tell him to drop it, and Merlin let him have this one. He’d get him to perk up again soon enough.

As they made their way through the forest, with only a couple of torches to light their way, Arthur still turned every once in a while, casting glances at the disappearing outline of the palace in the distance.

“Gwen will be fine, sire,” Merlin read his thoughts. “Gwenhwyfar is with her, she will keep her safe.”

“Mm.” Arthur nodded and turned his eyes back to the road ahead, a seemingly permanent frown etched on his brow.

“All will be well,” Merlin reassured.

“How can you be so sure?”

“I have faith,” Merlin said. “And I know that you and Gwen did not come all this way just to be taken apart the day before your wedding.”

Something flickered across Arthur’s expression. Even with his mind working a mile a minute from the wakefulness potion Emrys had cooked up and given him, Merlin couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was. But it did make him force more conviction into his voice as he barreled on, “We will prevail. You and Gwen will be happy. Don’t let what is happening now make you doubt it. You have so much to look forward to, Arthur. A Camelot that will prosper under your rule. A queen that is loved by all.” He smiled. “Perhaps even a little princess?”

They’d reached a small clearing and Arthur stopped dead in the middle of it. His frown deepened, like the idea somehow upset him to no end.

 Merlin frowned, too. “I’m sure you’ll have a son eventually…”

“It’s not that,” Arthur said. “I don’t care about that.”

“Then what is it?”

Was it a trick of the light, or did Arthur’s eyes seem a little too shiny? “It’s…been on my mind since I learned this child existed,” he admitted – softly, quietly. “I can’t stop wondering, what if…” He swallowed. “What if what happened to my mother happens to Guinevere?”

Oh.

“Your mother died because of sorcery, Arthur,” Merlin made himself say it, even when it left a bitter taste in his mouth.  

“Is that not a threat I would face, too?” Arthur gestured around, and the torch flickered wildly with the movement. “Morgana raises the dead to keep her just from becoming queen, what do you imagine she would do if Guinevere carried an heir to the throne of Camelot?”

He was right, and there was nothing Merlin could say to the contrary. He could only mutely nod in agreement, as Arthur looked down to the ground.

“If I lost Guinevere that way,” he said, “I…I wouldn’t love that child, Merlin.” He shook his head slowly, like it weighed a hundred stones. “Like my father didn’t love me.”

Despite everything, Merlin said, “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Then why is he doing this?” Arthur’s eyes rose, as did his voice. “Why won’t he stop, even when I beg him to? Have I – ” His breath caught. “Have I really been such a terrible king, that he would come to hate me enough to knowingly break my heart like this?”

Merlin’s heart broke, too, to watch him run in all these endless circles, wondering why his family was the way that it was.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Arthur,” Merlin said. “It is Uther who is wrong.”

There was no mistaking the tears that shone in Arthur’s eyes now.

“He is wrong about you,” Merlin went on, “as he is wrong about Gwen. And I think, deep down, you know that as well as I do. Because you are a better man than he was, Arthur, you always were. You just have to believe it.”

If he’d hoped to make him believe it, just like that, he was disappointed, because while the grieved, troubled look on Arthur’s face eased, it was replaced by a sadness Merlin could not explain.

Eventually, Arthur said, “Guinevere doesn’t want to marry me anymore.”

Merlin found that hard to believe. “Is that really what she said?”

“Not in those words.”

“What were the words?”

“She’s asked me to consider postponing our wedding.”

“How does that – ”

“At least.”

Ah. “I don’t think that means,” Merlin said, “she doesn’t want to be your queen anymore.”

“That’s what she said, too.”

“Then why are you – ” Merlin gave up. “If she’s brought it up at all,” he said instead, “I’m sure it is only out of concern for all our safeties.”

Arthur slowly nodded in agreement, then asked, “Should I do it?”

“Do what?”

“Postpone the ceremony. Or…” He let it trail off, but Merlin caught his meaning regardless.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Well, what should I do then?” Arthur wondered. “Because I don’t know. I don’t know if we’ll succeed in retrieving that horn,” he barreled on before Merlin could jump in. “I like to believe that it will work, but there’s no guarantee. Guinevere is right about that. Like she was right about my father.” His shoulders slumped. “Maybe she’s right about our wedding, too.”

Merlin sighed. Clearly, he had been talking at air just now. And so far, evidently, his plan to rid Gwen of her own doubts was backfiring in spectacular fashion, too.

“If she does not believe she should be queen,” Arthur asked quietly, “then how can I?”

“Gwen is only right most of the time,” Merlin cut in before this could get any further out of hand. “And however much she questions her ability to be queen, you and I both know she is more than capable. Whatever doubts she has, you must have faith in her. As she has had faith in you. And don’t,” he warned when Arthur opened his mouth, “say that’s one of those things she might be wrong about.”

Arthur’s mouth lifted in the barest of smiles. “You’ve always had great faith in me, too, Merlin. I’m not sure I ever thanked you for that.”

Acknowledgement and thanks? Now Merlin truly began to worry. “You earned it, sire.”

“Yeah,” Arthur humored him. He could not have more obviously been lying.

“I’ll prove it,” Merlin said, then nodded towards the road ahead. “Come on.”

Arthur followed without a word.

“See now,” Gwenhwyfar was saying, her tongue finally loosened, “that is the trouble with meeting your doubles. It makes you think too much. It makes you see things you did not want to see.”

“What I don’t understand,” Guenevere was promptly ignoring her, “is what our presence has changed? You are as you have always been. If marrying Arthur was the right thing to do before, then how is it a mistake now?”

Gwen did not think that any amount of time spent with them would get her used to this. Two people who were most alike, speaking of the same things yet never having the same answer on anything. At times, it was like having two echoes of her own voice, two halves of her own self, arguing in her head.

Not that she was like them.

“Whether it is a mistake,” Gwen said, “is for Arthur to say.”

“Because his judgement is so sound?” Gwenhwyfar scoffed. Truth be told, Gwen was losing track of which side of this argument she was on, especially when she went on, “Her Majesty’s got a point, you know. A moment’s weakness does not undo all that has come before. And if doubt is weakness, then you should look to the convictions you held before for answers, rather than to what is happening now.”

Guenevere’s jaw was practically on the floor. “Are you actually agreeing with me?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

Gwen admitted that she, too, was surprised. And now, there were doubts being cast on her doubts, which was just…a confusing position to be in.

“You’re right,” she had to admit nonetheless. Was this not the sort of thing she preached to Arthur himself, after all? “Except,” she added, “I see now that I have much to learn still. Perhaps more than I am capable of. And if that is so…then is it not better for Arthur to have the support of one who does know all these things and more?”

“And you are willing to sacrifice your happiness for it?” Guenevere asked.

“It is not my happiness that matters most,” Gwen said. “It is that of the people of Camelot. Arthur cares for them a great deal. It is what makes him a good king. And the one who should sit on the throne beside him is one who knows how best to help him see this land prosper.” She sighed. “I’m just not sure that’s me.”

It was, perhaps undoubtedly, someone like Guenevere, who only watched her in silence for a while. “That is all fine and well,” she eventually spoke, “but in this great intent to think of what is best for Camelot, you forget one thing.”

“Which is?”

“That an unhappy king,” Guenevere said pointedly, “does not make for a happier kingdom.”

“That is true,” Gwen sighed again.

“So, then,” Guenevere concluded, “is it not wise to stop thinking of what might be and believe in what is? Besides, it is you who have taught me that the best way to think is simple and straightforward,” she said. “You and Arthur love each other. You believe in the same things. That is what matters. The rest of it will fall into place. With time.” With unwavering certainty, she added, “Some things are meant to be.”

Gwen, despite it all, conceded with a smile. “Perhaps.”

“I really wish you would share my enthusiasm about this.”

“I do.”

Emrys pursed his lips. “You don’t look it.”

Arthur sighed softly. “You’re right,” he said, using that princely tone he liked to make apologies in. “I’m sorry, old friend.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” Emrys smiled.

They walked east through the dark woods of this world, at the dead of night, sustained only by the sheer power of will to reach the Crystal Cave and the potion he had made to keep them awake. He had never been more reminded of the delicate art and power of potion-making than when he had also given a vial of it to his double.

(“This is amazing!” Merlin had crowed. “I haven’t slept in two days, but I am fully awake!”

“You’re also shouting,” Emrys had pointed out.

“I know!”)

The fairy light Arthur had conjured to illuminate their way flickered.

“Are you sure we’re on the right path?” he asked.

“Of course I’m sure.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. With a sigh, Emrys rummaged through his satchel for the map he had been given and checked again.

As it turned out, they were not, in fact, on the right path.

“Try not to get us lost in an unfamiliar world where we are both likely to get executed for what we are,” Arthur deadpanned as they changed course.

Emrys rolled his eyes. This coming from the man who had just hours ago nearly made griffin lunch meat out of their skins. He was so overbearing.

“Come now, my lord,” Emrys said, “with the joined power we will have amassed by the end of this quest, who in this world could hope to stand a chance against us?”

The corner of Arthur’s mouth twitched. “Perhaps we should take over it and rule it as we see fit.”

Emrys had long ago come to attribute Arthur’s ability to make any sort of funny joke to Gwenhwyfar’s influence. “Mm, and it would be an easy conquest,” he agreed. “We’d have a nice castle, hordes of servants to do our bidding…you’d finally be a king of Camelot.” Barely managing to suppress a grin, he added, “And Gwenhwyfar could be our queen.”

Arthur somehow managed to freeze and keep walking at the same time. “Emrys…”

He couldn’t help the grin this time. “Why can’t you just admit you want to be with her?” he asked. “A blind man could see it. Deaf men have heard it.”

Arthur’s head snapped towards him. “What?”

Honestly. “Do neither of you realize that we live in tents? We can hear things, Arthur. We can hear everything. And why you never think to cast a soundproofing spell beforehand is beyond – ”

“Alright, that’s enough.”

Emrys shut his mouth, though his smirk remained. Arthur was resolutely staring at the leaves that crunched under his boots.

“You know that we all hope for it, don’t you?” Emrys said softly. “That when you are king, she will be your queen?”

Arthur’s jaw clenched. “That’s…not going to happen, Emrys.”

“Why not?”

Arthur cleared his throat. “I’ve, uh…I’ve been corresponding with Mithian of Nemeth these past couple of months. She is of the royal family. If – when I am king, she’s agreed to be my queen to forge an alliance between our kingdoms.”

Emrys grimaced. “What’d you do that for?”

It earned him a fleeting, thoroughly unimpressed look. “Nemeth’s strategic position and influence in the land cannot be denied. When we finally take the throne of Camelot, we will need a strong ally to support our claim. To keep the peace we hope to bring.”

Sometimes, Emrys forgot that Arthur was, in fact, a royal and that they, as a sort, made no sense. “And that…will be enough to make you happy?”

“My happiness has nothing to do with it,” Arthur said. “I will have a duty to deliver on what I have promised. I must do what is best for Camelot.”

Emrys couldn’t help but feel hurt. “Gwenhwyfar isn’t good enough for Camelot?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But what, this Millie is just better?”

“Mithian.”

“Whatever.”

Arthur sighed at the moon.

Emrys considered him for a moment. He talked big, but if Emrys were a betting man – and he was – he would not place one coin on this union. Rather, he would stake all of his riches on another one entirely.

So, he shook his head, clicked his tongue, and said, “Nah. This will not come to anything.”

“Do you question my word?”

“If anything, sire, I question your sanity. But I do still have faith, which is why I know,” Emrys declared with certainty, “that, in the end, you will not do this. This Millicent – ”

“Mithian.”

“Mildred, is not destined to be queen the Camelot and so, whatever you may say to me now, I know that this will not come to be.” He raised his chin with great dignity. “I know what the ancients used to say.”

After a moment, Arthur said, “You put too much stock in your stories.”

Emrys gasped. “How dare you say that to a Druid?”

Arthur almost cracked a smile. “We cannot know our destiny, Emrys. We only understand the meaning of our life at the end.”

There went Gwenhwyfar’s influence again. “Perhaps not,” Emrys allowed, “but nothing stops us from guessing it. The world is full of signs. But alright, forget my stories.” He waved a hand. “What about your double’s?”

“The one who can’t save his own betrothed?” Arthur frowned.

“No, obviously, the other one.”

“Ah.” Arthur nodded. “What about his stories?”

“Come on, Arthur,” Emrys said, not unkindly, “you know what I mean. All his stories are the same. You know how his Morgaine thinks that some lives are always foretold only one way? I believe that. Because it doesn’t matter what world he’s talking about, what great or terrible thing sets it apart from the next, they all start the same way.” He smiled faintly. “There is Camelot. There is you, meant for the crown. And then, there is Gwenhwyfar. Or Guinevere. Or Gwen, or – what was it that assassin called herself?”

“Jenny,” Arthur answered, barely above a whisper.

“Yes, Jenny. It’s always the same story. And you know,” he said, looking to the trees and the stars, “it comforts me. To know that, wherever you exist, it is your destiny to be king. If all the fates in all the worlds are in agreement, then that must mean that we made the right choice. When we put our faith in you.” He nodded at the heavens. “We took the right path to peace. We chose right.” 'Gwenhwyfar chose right.'

“But I also cannot ignore that whenever your name is mentioned, so is hers,” he turned back to Arthur, who only walked beside him in silence. “Sometimes she is queen, and sometimes she is yet to be one – and then other times, you’re just not sure how it’s going to come to that, but she’s always there. And you are always in love.”

Arthur didn’t even bother denying it. And Emrys, whatever the prince said of his stories, the ancients, or the fates, knew exactly how to drive this point home.

“It puzzles me which came first, though,” he mused. “Were you born to be king and to love her and so she became queen? Was she born to be queen and to love you and so you became king? Were you each born for your own crown and so you inevitably came together? Or were you just born for each other,” he wondered, “and everything else is only a mere consequence of that?”

Arthur stopped. Under the fairy, star and moon light, his eyes shone with tears.

“What would you like me to say, Emrys?” his voice was thick. “That I want to believe that, too? Because I do.” He chuckled faintly. “I think about her all the time. I care about her more than anyone. If anything ever happens to her, I – ”

He never finished, though Emrys understood perfectly.

“But we can’t always get what we want, and whatever Gwen and I had is over,” Arthur said with finality. “So leave it be.”

He walked on, but Emrys stopped him again with, “And what of that mark you carry above your heart?”

“Well, that’s not going anywhere, is it?” Arthur whispered.

“No, but Gwenhwyfar will,” Emrys said. “Do you expect her to stay in Camelot just to watch you with another?”

Arthur was giving him a funny sort of look over his shoulder.

“You’ve driven me mad for being away from her for two days, do you really think you will be able to bear – ”

“She doesn’t want to be with me.”

Emrys screeched to a halt. 'Say that again?'

'She doesn’t want me,' Arthur said. He turned back to face him fully, arms out. “The arrangement with Mithian? It was Gwen’s idea.”

That – that certainly put a new perspective on things. And all Emrys could think of saying was just, “Oh.”

Arthur’s responding smile was wry and entirely mirthless. “I think that makes her feelings on the matter pretty clear, don’t you?”

“But – but – what about – ”

“That’s – ” Arthur looked away, struggling for a way to put it, until he just looked…sad. “Over,” he repeated. “It was never meant to last anyway, it was all talk. She reminded me of that. And you what, she’s right.” He shrugged. “I would like nothing more than to follow my heart, Emrys, believe me, but I cannot make her into something she does not want to be. So, I will do the convenient thing instead and bring Camelot the alliance it deserves.”

He expelled a sharp breath and straightened, like he was shaking the whole thing off. “Now, if we could just carry on, get to this cave, get your magic back and get out of this cursed world…” He did not wait for an agreement before promptly turning on his heel and marching on.  

Emrys stood rooted in the spot for a while longer before taking off after him. “Well, I mean – you know, Gwenhwyfar sometimes has trouble expressing her feelings – ”

“Shut up, Emrys.”

“You found him a wife?”

It was Guenevere’s questioning that had led them to this point and it was again she who raised the question, staring at Gwenhwyfar like she had just sprouted a second head.

Gwen, admittedly, shared some of the sentiment. Watching Arthur put politics over love, or get pushed into it, and letting it be was one thing, she could understand that – quite well, even. But to willingly send him off to another…

“I suggested,” Gwenhwyfar was unimpressed with the both of them, “that an alliance with Nemeth would benefit Camelot greatly. He agreed with me.”

“Has he ever not agreed with you?” Guenevere wondered, just as Gwen said, struck by a new swell of sympathy, “That must have been hard.”

Bluster suddenly gone, Gwenhwyfar only sat silently on the bed, picking at a thread that had come loose from the covers. “As you say, Guinevere,” she spoke, “the future of Camelot comes before all else, especially before my feelings. I do not fight in vain. I fight for peace and the right of everyone to just be who they are. Arthur believes in all those things, more than…anyone I have ever known.”

“A true and noble cause,” Gwen whispered.

“Indeed, the mark of a good king,” Gwenhwyfar agreed, a faraway look in her eye. “I have sworn with my life to get him on the throne of Camelot. It is my duty now, just as it is to keep him there once it is done. This alliance will serve that purpose.” With resolve as unyielding as the steel of her blade, she said, “So that, for all the years to come, he may be safe to preach the values we have forgotten and restore them to Albion.”

Yes, quite the noble cause. Yet, though she had declared it with determination, her voice had been rough and her eyes shone in the light of the candles Gwen had lit, a little too brightly to be truly dry. Like her heart was breaking.

“You do think with your head,” Guenevere broke the silence, sounding like she had just come upon a wonder. “But you’re using it all wrong.”

Gwenhwyfar rolled her eyes. “Thanks.”

“You should – ”

“What right have you,” Gwenhwyfar cut in, “to incessantly badger me with this, when you married only for politics, too?”

This could not be argued with, so, looking like she had swallowed something sour, Guenevere turned sideways - and while Gwen could see why she would be her best option here, what with being the one among them who would marry for love, put on the spot like this and all circumstances considered, she couldn’t think of anything to say.

Gwenhwyfar barreled on, “Why does this matter to you so much anyway? You say that the fates of other worlds are not your concern. So why will you not just leave mine be?”

It was Guenevere’s turn to be put on the spot, and for all that she appeared to have all the answers to all their troubles, she was silent as a tomb now.

“All that talk about how we’re all meant to be queens,” Gwenhwyfar said, “all the ways in which you try to convince us….you only care about the fates of the worlds when it makes you seem special. It’s all about your own vanity, isn’t it?”

The words were harsh, and Gwen nearly flinched at it, as Guenevere’s mouth set into a line, her chest rising and falling with a deep, unsteady breath. In the end, she cast her eyes to her lap and said, “Perhaps there is some of that. I cannot deny it. But, in a way, it also…comforts me.” She shrugged. “If, in every world there is, I am only ever meant to be one thing, and that is a king’s consort, then I was not…a coward. For not challenging the way of things, or my brother, for not asking that I be – ” She sniffled, and quickly wiped under her eyes. “I was just letting myself become what I was supposed to be.”

What she was not supposed to be was never spoken of but Gwen believed she understood nonetheless – and even Gwenhwyfar, still coiled like a trap ready to spring, lost some of her righteous indignation, only chewing on her tongue in silence.

“I may be selfish -" Guenevere raised her chin again - "and vain, and whatever you like to call me, but it does not mean that I am wrong. As I said…no Camelot will be better off for having an unhappy king.”

“Who’s to say that she will make him unhappy?” Gwenhwyfar muttered.

“I think that the man who has bound himself eternally to you,” Guenevere said, with a unexpected touch of kindness, “says so himself.”

This, too, could hardly be argued with. Gwenhwyfar only let out a shaky breath, and hung her head.

It was hardly the right time to bring it up, but her curiosity got the better of her, and so Gwen asked, “This bond you always speak of…I’m not entirely sure I understand. What does it really mean?”

“Like I said, it is a rite from the old days,” Gwenhwyfar answered, regardless of poor timing. “If anything, it should have been done the other way around, but Arthur…insisted. In a way, it is as if – ” she turned her eyes to the ceiling, blinking her tears away – “part of me now lives inside of him. It is as one with his soul.”

He’d taken his very soul into this deal? Gwen had to admit that she was…impressed.

“So, he has a sense of me,” Gwenhwyfar went on. “Right now, wherever it is he’s gone, he can tell where I might be as well as he can tell so for himself. And if I choose to, I can share some of what I feel with him. That way, if trouble finds me, as it tends to, he will know to come for me. And where. It was, I believe, his first reason for doing this. As it used to be in the old days.”

When the warriors would bind themselves to the lieges for surety. Gwen remembered. “Is that all you can share with him?”

“No. But it is all I ever will. Besides, I am a Druid and he has magic. That takes care of most things.”

“How do you mean?”

It was Guenevere who answered, looking at her like she was daft. “Druids can speak with their minds. To others like them and to all those with magic.”

Oh. Oh, that explained so much.

“Yes,” Gwenhwyfar said. “As to what this bond means, in the end…” She was tracing the lines of her marking, like she was barely aware of doing so. “It is unbreakable. Death does little against it. And so, even in the spirit world, he will know to find me. Even in the next life, and the one after that, he will have the same sense of me, and…will hurt the same if I am gone.” She cast her eyes down, a hitch in her breath. “We are forever bound this way.”

“Do you owe him anything in return?”

“Not by any laws of magic, no.”

Well, then, to have taken her mark upon himself despite all of this was…a great sacrifice. Speaking of her mark - “You said that the rite was done by one taking the mark of the other. But I have not seen yours on him.”

“Mm, no,” Guenevere said. “Ask her where he put it.”

“Where did he put it?” Gwen asked dutifully.

Looking decidedly away, Gwenhwyfar mumbled, “Over his heart.”

Gwen had no words. Guenevere was casting her a sideways glance, too, as if to say, “would you look at this?”

“Well,” Gwen hedged after a moment, “all of this does make it sound like he would be unhappy without you.”

“Is your Arthur’s happiness what matters most when you ask if you should be his queen?” Gwenhwyfar countered.

Alright, granted. But all her Arthur had ever staked on this was his earthly heart, not his ever-lasting soul. 

“My happiness does not matter either,” Gwenhwyfar added. “What matters is that, unlike you, I cannot be queen. And I know that.”

“For certain?” Gwen wondered. 

“I am not like you, Guinevere.” Gwenhwyfar chuckled, an entirely hollow and mirthless sound. “I wish I was. I wish I could be. But I have lived my life in war, wandered the world, spent my days in tents and forests instead of castles and courts. Time, for me, has only shown that I am good at battle, that I am – as you say, my lady,” she turned to Guenevere, “impulsive, and reckless, neither of which are queenly virtues.”

She wiped under eyes, catching the few tears that had escaped her. “It’s not like I haven’t thought about it,” she admitted, almost like confessing to a wrong. “I’ve tried to imagine it. What it would be to wear a pretty dress, and live in a palace, have a crown and sit on a throne, have people bow in respect to me as they pass…to be Arthur’s council. But then, I always realize…” She shook her head slowly. “These moments I imagine are…not mine. The girl I see in them, it’s not me. That’s someone else’s life.”

Gwen listened with a heavy heart, sighing when it was done. Yet, the words gave her pause, too. She had imagined such things as well. Plenty of times, since she had fallen in love with Arthur. More than she cared to admit to.

And when she called the images forth, it was herself she saw. The girl who wore the dresses stacked in the back of Arthur’s closet was only her. It was she, exactly as she was, who gave counsel when Arthur asked, to the point where she might know every word she would speak in answer to any given question. When Arthur had taken her through the courtyard after announcing their betrothal and the people had bowed their heads, it had been exactly as she had imagined – and had made her heart beat as fast as she had thought it would.

And the moment she had played in her mind, over and over again, when she would kneel before the king and he would put a crown on her head? That was all hers.

“Not this again,” Merlin groaned.

In this form, with a beard that went to his waist and bones that creaked with every movement, he considered he was already too old and tired to be putting up with a nighttime trek through the woods in search of some Horn. He did not need to be putting up with how hopeless his king was, too.

Why, by the Gods, was his favorite story the one about the assassin?

“All I’m saying is,” Arthur persisted, “I think it was romantic.”

“She gave him a human heart in a jar!”

“To show her love!”

They were never going to break this cycle. He was infatuated with every version of the queen there ever was and there was nothing any of her doubles could do that he could not make into a damned love story.

Case in point: a career assassin carved out a man’s heart, put it in a jar and sent it to his double, and Arthur said, “I mean, if Guenevere cut out my enemy’s heart and put it on my table, I’d appreciate the gesture.”

“Gesture,” Merlin moaned.

“It’s as a good a way as any to make amends for coming to kill me, don’t you think?”

“I do not.”

“Oh, Dragoon,” Arthur sighed. Merlin scowled. “Can you not, at least, appreciate the fact that she killed not for money, but for justice, and that she turned on Lot the moment she realized he had hired her under false pretenses and lied about my double’s tyranny?”

Yes, yes, he remembered. She travelled the length and breadth of what passed for Albion in her world, looking to serve their just deserts to those who did wrong and were not punished, though not before making sure the accusations against them were true. There was the part about giving most of the coin she earned to starving children or something such, too.

Arthur thought it showed honor. Merlin thought it all showed only one thing.

He trotted down the beaten, westbound dirt road and watched his king, cocking his head as he commented, “There is nothing in the worlds she could do that you would not forgive, is there?”

Arthur seemed confused as to which one they were talking about for a second, then laughed and shrugged. “I can hardly see Guenevere doing something truly unforgivable.”

“I trust the queen as much as you do,” Merlin said, “and I realize that there’s probably no point to this anymore, but you do know that not all of her doubles are like her and worthy of the same consideration, don’t you?”

“You keep telling me that like I’m an idiot. But what you don’t realize,” Arthur told him, jovially, “is that I know Guenevere better than anyone, and I can see some of her in each of her doubles. Sure, one is an assassin and the other is a queen, but they both care for justice. And alright, one is a…terrifying warrior and the other can’t swing a sword to save her life, but they both fight for Camelot. I know they’re not the same,” he said, “but they’re not so different either. That is why I give them the same consideration.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “What about on the Black Earth?”

“Um - ” Arthur pursed his lips - “she’s still…quite clever in that world.”

“Arthur, you’re both tyrants there.”

“Yes, right, but - ” Arthur raised a finger in the air - “at least we’re still together.”

Merlin gave up. “You’re hopeless.”

“And you are stubborn,” Arthur countered. “Otherwise, you’d see that you’re not so different from your doubles either.”

“Please,” Merlin scoffed. “Just the ones in this world make me weep. Emrys alone is as naïve as a child who lives by the teachings of fairytales.”

“Right, because you never did that,” Arthur deadpanned. “You made me king only after I had proven that I was completely competent and not at all because of a dream that Morgana had.”

“I…just didn’t want to do her bidding for the rest of my life, that’s all.”

“Mm.”

“And the Merlin of this world – he got dealt some bad fortune, granted, but he misuses his magic, cowers as a servant, and can barely tell his head from his backside. I am nothing like him.”

“Oh, I think you have some things in common,” Arthur said, looking at him askance. “Or do you forget what my double said upon seeing you?”

Merlin stayed silent for a while, measuring the king from the corner of his eye. Somehow, he always expected to see judgement whenever the subject was brought up. But there was none this time either. “That was Morgana’s idea, too.”

“I’ve made my peace with what the two of you did a long time ago,” Arthur, for all that he was hopeless, could read him as well as a book. “You know, I forgive you a lot of things, too, Merlin.”

“I know.” Merlin nodded solemnly. “And I am grateful, sire.” Arthur only nodded in kind.

“So, um,” Merlin went on after a moment, “what about you? Does your new double teach you something about yourself? Besides the obvious, of course.”

Arthur chuckled, playing with his wedding band. “Nothing I didn’t already know, I suppose.”

“So me wasting away in this world is entirely pointless, then?”

“We are saving a woman’s life.”

“Eh.”

“Caring for others is a virtue,” Arthur said. “And besides, not all teachings are the kind you like to hear, Merlin, the kind that can be put in a book. Some are…just curious things, that may serve for the betterment of yourself, or serve no true purpose at all.”

“Like what?”

“Well, for example, now I know that should my father rise from the dead to commit murder, I should do the exact opposite of everything my double has done. Not that I…foresee that likely happening.”

“Uther actually might. But I don’t foresee Gaius trying to murder anyone from beyond the grave either, no.”

Arthur smiled, eyes cast down. “He’s a physician here,” his voice softened. “That’s ironic, isn’t it?”

When the one thing he’d needed to live and hadn’t gotten in their world was a physician? Yes. “Countless different people, living countless different lives, in countless different worlds,” Merlin said, kindly. “He was bound to be this one thing in one of them.”

“Yeah,” Arthur agreed quietly, then shrugged it off. “See? That’s one of those things that serve no real purpose. It’s just curious. I still like that I know it, though.”

“Yes, sire, I understand now,” Merlin said. He really didn’t, but best to agree with Arthur on the sentimental things. He’d learned that from the queen.

Whether Arthur believed him or not remained undetermined, for he stopped in the middle of the road, looking over his shoulder. “I think we’re far away enough from the palace now that no one will see you. Cast the spell to find Morgana.”

“Your double will be so disappointed that you’re not using all those reports on sightings of her he put together.” But Merlin did have great plans to use them as kindling for a nice, warm fire once they were done with this madness.

He began his incantations, to draw on the magic from the elements to show them the way to those near who had it within them. His king’s logic had been that there could not be many who practiced in these parts – on the account of the oppressive, barbaric bans on its use and all – and that one of, at most, two paths would surely lead to Morgana.

Indeed, one golden line traced a path back towards Camelot and curved in the distance, undoubtedly leading to Merlin’s double. There were, however, a dozen other lines growing every which way from the spot where they stood. Merlin raised an eyebrow.

Arthur scratched his head. “I guess magic isn’t as repressed in Camelot as my double believes.”

“You think?”

“Alright, well…we need a new plan.”

“Or we could just, you know, abandon this folly right now and not needlessly risk our lives.”

Arthur ignored him, looking around like the trees would give him answers and pursing his lips. Then he snapped his fingers. “Do you know what we could do…remember how you found me in Longstead all those years ago?”

Merlin resigned himself to his fate, sighing. “Yes.”

“We could just do that,” Arthur proposed, already rummaging through his bag for the map they’d been given. “Now, granted, we are from different worlds, but my double and I still have the same constitution, which means that Morgana is still my sister, which means - ” he knelt on the ground and spread the map out flat, grinning up as he pulled out his dagger, too - “that we can use my blood to draw a path to her on this map. Like you used her blood to find me once.”

Groaning at both his misfortune and the pain in his joints, and wishing he’d never told him of blood magic and its uses, Merlin slowly joined the king on the ground. He still hesitated as the dagger made its way into his hand, though.

“Come on, Merlin,” Arthur goaded and held his hand out, palm facing down. “You’ve been itching for an opportunity like this since the moment I forced you onto this journey. Admit it.”

“You’re smarter than you look, my lord,” Merlin said, and cut across the back of Arthur’s hand.

Chapter Text

How a question as innocuous as, “What do you think of Lord Agravaine?” had led to this, Gwen would never understand.

She had been quite comfortable with her plans to spend this night in her home, safe and away to ponder her fate and choices – but she had, of course, reckoned without her doubles.

No sooner had they stopped questioning her reticence to wear the crown that they had moved on to other wonderings, leaving her little time to indulge her own. Guenevere had made the query about Agravaine, to which Gwen had only answered, “Arthur trusts him.”

Moments later, Guenevere was in so many words accusing Agravaine of treason.

Over unknown and unwitnessed offenses. And only on the basis of her instincts. Gwenhwyfar had looked strangely proud of her.

When Gwen found it hard to believe that Agravaine would betray his sister’s only son – no matter how cold, sometimes cruel, she found him, no matter how much he disapproved of her – she was met with Guenevere’s raised eyebrow and, “Considering why your life is in peril at the moment, can you really believe that the bond of family is any sort of guarantee of love?”

Gwenhwyfar had added, “He is Morgaine’s only brother, too, is he not?”

And because their ways of thinking were, in the end, so similar, Gwen could not disagree.

She did wonder about Agravaine. If he was everything he seemed, if he had Arthur’s best interests at heart. Each time he counselled the king poorly, she wondered. It could just be his way of thinking – valuing tradition, believing that a good rule was only one delivered with a strong hand. Or it could be that he had his own agenda.

But treachery was a serious accusation, and it would grieve Arthur endlessly if she ever suggested it. There was no proof of anything, she had said, and no way to know what was truly in Agravaine’s heart.

To that, Gwenhwyfar had, fatefully, smirked and said, “We could find out.”

When Gwen hesitated still, on account of persecuting a man for no true reason and quite probably inviting disaster, Guenevere had challenged, “Are you the future queen or not?”

That was indeed the question. So, Gwen had risen from her bench, sealed her fate, and said, “Let’s go then.”

And now here she was, squatting behind the bushes by the northern gate, getting her best shoes muddied and listening to Guenevere complain about her knees aching from the cold from where she crouched on Gwen’s right.

“Oh, will you stop it?” Gwenhwyfar muttered on her left, their shoulders bumping. “He’ll hear us.”

Agravaine did not hear, neither this nor Guenevere’s responding huff that blew past Gwen’s ear. He still stood where they had followed him to, through the tunnels that led from the dungeons to the secluded gate, shrouded in darkness. He was undoubtedly waiting for something. Or someone.

Gwen squinted her eyes, as if it would make whoever it was materialize in the night. It made no difference.

She withheld a sigh. If no one came, then she was just a fool freezing behind a bush.

Even if someone did come, she may very well still turn out be one. For all she knew, Agravaine could simply be waiting for a lady of the court with whom he dallied in secret.

In any case, she was just glad that Arthur was not here to see any of it.

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

Two minutes later, Arthur asked again. “How about now?”

Merlin sighed, glancing at him sideways. “Patience, my lord.”

Arthur huffed. He had grown quite tired of this whole endeavor about an hour ago, and had spent just about all that time wondering what had possessed him to let Merlin take him into the pitch-black darkness with only a pair of torches to cut through it. Without telling him where it was they were headed. Or what it was they were trying to find.

“I really don’t understand why you won’t just tell me where we’re going. Or why.”

“Because you wouldn’t believe me,” Merlin said.

“Believe what?”

Keeping half-a-step ahead, Merlin began, “When Gwen’s doubles first came here, I started to wonder. So, before we left, I asked Gaius. And he told me of a story.”

“Oh, good,” Arthur deadpanned. “A bedtime story. Look, Merlin – ”

“Will you just listen?”

Arthur bit back a choice remark, and begrudgingly motioned for him to continue.

Seemingly satisfied, Merlin went on, “Many years ago, when this land was steeped in strife and war, one man sought to put an end to it all. He gathered all the warring kings and queens and had them draw borders across the disputed lands, with the promise that they would each keep to their own, thereby restoring peace to all of Albion. He was the first king of Camelot, ancestor to all those who came after – including you, Arthur.”

“Bruta.” Arthur nodded. “Every child in Camelot knows this story, Merlin.”

“But the part that they do not know,” Merlin proceeded, undeterred, “is that Bruta foresaw that peace would not be kept forever. That there would come a time when his ideas would be challenged, and this land would once more need someone like him to guide it. So, he devised a test. That only someone worthy of his legacy, a true king of Camelot, could pass.”

Finally, he turned back to Arthur, and said, “I believe that is you, Arthur. And I will prove it.”

Arthur stopped. Oh, he saw what this was now. “If this is some misguided, foolish attempt of yours prove that my father is wrong – ”

“It is not misguided,” Merlin did not waver. “Or foolish. Only the truth.”

“That story,” Arthur said, “is the biggest pile of rubbish that I have ever heard in my entire life, and if you think – ”

“Rubbish, is it?” Merlin was grinning now, walking backwards slowly, as the trees behind him began to give way to a clearing. “What’s that then?”

Arthur opened his mouth to retort but it died on his lips as Merlin stepped aside, letting him see it.

It stood in the middle of the small clearing and, despite the darkness, despite only the faint light of their two torches, that which they had come to find nearly glowed in the moonlight, almost as if it had a light of its own.

“A sword in a stone,” Arthur muttered.

For a moment, he was mesmerized, rendered mute by shock.

The blade, forged in a dragon’s breath, that Gwenhwyfar wielded and his double had fished out of a lake while only three people saw, that they said could kill anything, alive or dead – it sat right before his very eyes, in his own world, sunk nearly to the hilt into stone. Just as Dragoon had said it could be.

“Yes.” Merlin came behind him, though his voice somehow sounded far away. “And you are going to pull it out.”

That snapped Arthur out of it. He whirled around. “Are you mad?”

And Merlin probably was, because he only smiled like he knew things Arthur did not. “Have faith, sire.”

“That sword,” Arthur said, “is stuck fast in solid stone, Merlin. No man could pull it out.”

“No, not just any man,” Merlin said. “Only a man worthy of the greatest consideration as king – the greatest king this land has ever known. And that is you.”

Arthur closed his eyes, sighing.

“It is meant for you,” Merlin insisted.

“You can’t know that!” Arthur gestured around, then pointed at Merlin, challenging, “How do you know it’s not meant for Guinevere?”

For the first time, Merlin paused, as if he had never quite considered that idea. Then, he shook his head. “It is yours, Arthur,” he repeated, with infuriating conviction. “And I am sure, if Gwen were here to see this, she would tell you the same.”

Would she?

Her face floated through his mind, as he had seen her last, so sad and resigned. She never said it, but he knew he had disappointed her. He hated disappointing her, of all people.

Like he hated disappointing his father.

“Arthur,” Merlin spoke, like he knew exactly what was going through his mind, “she has believed in you all these years. You know she is proud of you.”

Arthur looked away, to the trees, then the ground, and lastly, over his shoulder, to the blade that still sat in its boulder like something out of a dream. It damn near called to him.

“I let her down today,” he said quietly.

“Not everything is lost,” Merlin said. “You can make it up to her. And I,” he added, “can think of no better way to show her, and yourself, that you really are the man she has always thought you to be.”

He moved without even meaning to, as if steered by an invisible hand, turning around fully and sticking his torch into the ground before he stepped forward. His hand was nearly around the pommel by the time he realized what he was doing. He stopped.

“You were right to choose her as your queen,” Merlin was still there, like a guiding voice in his ear, “as you were right to choose to rule Camelot the way you do. And you can prove that – you can prove that your father is wrong to doubt you. You just have to take up that sword.”

Arthur’s hands closed around it in a tight grip.

Alright, easy enough. He just had to take it out. Just take that sword out, and he would not be a terrible king. Just one, quick, miraculous deed, and Guinevere would look at him again the way she did the day he had gotten his crown.

He gave it a tug. It didn’t budge.

He immediately dropped his hands and backed away. “Alright, this is ridiculous, it can’t be done, let’s just get out of here – ”

“You have to believe, Arthur.”

Arthur sighed, watching the light play on the sword’s hilt. He closed his eyes and held on to that memory of Guinevere again, of the moment when he had, just barely crowned king, looked into the crowd and seen her face. She had looked so happy.

“You know, in your heart,” Merlin was saying now, “the kind of kingdom that Camelot should be. The kind it will be, with you, and Gwen, on the throne. Have faith, Arthur,” he repeated, “and pull that sword out.”

With new resolve, Arthur reached out with one hand and wrapped it around the pommel.

Eyes still closed, a new image came to his mind – a thing yet to be, where Guinevere was just as happy but it was she who was just barely crowned now, and he held his hand out to her. She slipped her hand in his and he raised it higher, and higher – with no weight, no force to impede it –  then higher still, until she could stand. By the throne, with him, as they faced the crowd that cheered for them.

When he opened his eyes again, the light of the moon shone down on the steel of the blade, engraved with golden runes and pointing to the high heavens.

Arthur could not help the chuckle that escaped him. He had just pulled a sword out of a stone.

And only one person saw.

Gwen could hardly believe what she saw.

She glanced between Guenevere and Gwenhwyfar, just to make sure. They both sported identical looks, eyebrows hiked up high on their foreheads. So, it wasn’t just her, then.

A lady did indeed come out of the darkness to meet Lord Agravaine, but she had definitely not come from the court.

“My lady, I was beginning to think you would not come,” Agravaine said, to which Morgana lowered the hood of her black cloak.

Gwen strained to hear her response, too far away to catch the softly-spoken words, a task further hindered by her companions.

“You were right, Your Highness,” Gwenhwyfar muttered, as if amazed.

Guenevere’s head whipped in her direction. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Is this the time?” Gwen hissed.

They mouthed apologies and went quiet, allowing Gwen to listen. She could only make out some words, Morgana saying that Uther had warned her of all the doubles in this world, that Agravaine should try and thwart them where he saw the chance.

Agravaine was a traitor. There was no doubt that he conspired with Morgana against Arthur. Gwen’s heart sank.

Movement on her right caught her eye, and she turned her head just in time to see Gwenhwyfar slowly reach back to draw her sword.

Gwen stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Are you mad?”

“I can take her,” Gwenhwyfar said. It was dark, but Gwen still recognized the look in her eyes. Arthur had the same one whenever he thought that the reckless thing he was about to do was the right one.

Gwen shook her head. “No, you can’t.”

“She has very powerful magic,” Guenevere supplied.

Gwenhwyfar gave a shrug, as if to say, ‘so?’ “How often have you had the chance to catch her by surprise?” she asked.

“Not nearly as often as you’ve had the chance to get yourself killed, clearly,” Guenevere muttered.

She was about to receive a retort by the way Gwenhwyfar’s mouth opened, but Gwen dug her fingers in to draw her attention.

“You said that because you are impulsive, it makes you unfit to be queen,” she said when Gwenhwyfar’s eyes cut over to her. “This is your chance to prove otherwise. Surely,” she urged, “you can see that there is a better way?”

Gwenhwyfar’s arm relaxed, though she still did not lower it, looking uncertain.

Gwen took advantage and pressed. “Do not let your hatred for the Morgana you know cloud your judgement,” she said, “as it did with Uther.”

Slowly, Gwenhwyfar dropped her arm. She pulled air in through her nose, then, averting her gaze, admitted, “You’re right.”

Guenevere’s mouth hung open. “Your time here has changed you.”

Gwenhwyfar only spared her a glance, mouth twitching. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

Satisfied that a disaster had been averted, Gwen turned back to Morgana and Agravaine. Agravaine was speaking but Morgana hardly seemed to listen, instead casting looks around the grounds as if searching for something. Her eyes cut right over the bushes where they hid, and Gwen stopped breathing, her heart beating faster.

She willed it to slow down, for fear that Morgana might somehow hear and find her.

But the moment passed, and Morgana’s gaze moved on elsewhere.

Soon, she was drawing her hood back on and returning to the night where she had come from, having apparently concluded her business here. Agravaine still lingered, watching her go.

Gwen could finally breathe again.

“So,” Guenevere spoke, “now what?”

“We wait for Arthur to return,” Gwen whispered.

“And give Agravaine time to do whatever nefarious thing he means to do?”

Gwen looked over to her. “This matter is delicate. He is the king’s uncle.”

“I understand that. But who knows where the king has gone and when he will return, and yet time is of the essence. You should send for the knights.”

“I have no authority to send for his arrest.” Gwen shook her head.

“Yet the king trusts you,” Guenevere retorted. “In the eyes of his knights, it must count for something.”

“Perhaps,” Gwen allowed, “but I can’t just – this will break Arthur’s heart.”

“A sad thing indeed,” Guenevere agreed, if flatly, “but it does not change what needs to be done.”

“I know that,” Gwen said, “but I still – no matter what we saw here tonight, I still have no proof of his treachery.”

“Surely, your word will suffice?”

Gwen bit her lip. “I don’t – ”

There was a sharp sound and then a muffled yelp, followed a dull thud, as if a sack of grain had fallen into the mud with a splash.

When Gwen frantically looked over, Agravaine was sprawled on the ground unconscious, and Gwenhwyfar stood above him, lazily flicking her sword in one hand.

Gwen and Guenevere jumped to their feet as one. “What have you done?”

“What?” Gwenhwyfar frowned at them. “I can take him.”

It was her own mistake, really, Gwen thought. Wasting time convincing Guenevere when she really should have spent it restraining Gwenhwyfar.

“And what do you suppose we’ll do with him now?” she asked.

“Take him back to the palace,” Gwenhwyfar said simply, “fetch whichever knight it is your king leaves in charge of matters, then have this traitor thrown in the dungeons.”

Oh, a woman with a plan. 

“Do you know what,” Guenevere spoke, “I take back what I said. You’ve not changed that much.”

Gwenhwyfar pursed her lips, then, because it would have apparently changed things somehow, said, “I wish Arthur were here.”

“I wish I were anywhere but here.”

“I thought you enjoyed my company?” Emrys said.

“Not when you won’t shut up,” Arthur retorted.

They trudged down a valley, tucked within some rocks on each side and covered with fallen leaves up to the ankles, as if no one had passed through it in a long, long time. Arthur truly hoped this was the valley they were looking for. He had had quite enough of this journey.

And Emrys once again demonstrated why when he kept prattling on. “Well, we’re friends, aren’t we? And as your friend, is it not my place to tell you when I think you’re making a mistake?”

“Ten times in a row?” Arthur deadpanned.

“It’s just that you don’t seem to be getting my point.”

Were he still a prince in the court of Camelot, before his sister had decided to call for his head, Arthur would meet such badgering with a tongue-tying curse that made Emrys unable to speak from full moon to full moon. But he could not do that now. Probably.

“And what point is that?” Arthur asked.

'That you’re a cabbage-head,' Emrys spoke into his mind, giving him a sideways smirk.

Arthur smiled despite himself, but it faded quickly. “You don’t seem to be getting my point either, Emrys,” he said. “This was Gwen’s idea.”

“So it was,” Emrys agreed reluctantly. “Does that mean you should do everything she says? You should do what you believe is right, too. Be true to yourself.”

“You also forget,” Arthur reminded, “that I happen to think the same.”

Emrys sighed now, a long and drawn-out sound. He had been doing that a lot.

“Have it your way,” he caved, then sped up his pace so he could walk a couple of steps ahead.

Arthur would have called it a victory – a moment of peace and quiet, at long last – except that with Emrys no longer there to force him to justify himself, he had no escape from what was on his mind. What was always on his mind, really.

She carried a part of his soul with her, for heaven’s sake.

Not for the first time, he wondered what he had been thinking. To bind himself forever to someone when it could never last. Morgaine would say that the depths of his heart were matched only the by the depths of his stupidity.

But then he felt Gwen with him – her presence in every moment he drew breath, even now, in this backwards world – and the sense of peace it gave him, the likes of which he had not known since leaving Camelot. He remembered that it had helped him find her when she was lost, and he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

The kiss they shared when he healed her injuries came to his mind again and again, every moment of it – how she had grabbed on to him, how it felt to hold her again, how much he had missed her –

'Are you thinking about her?'

'Shut. Up. Emrys.'

Emrys looked over his shoulder at him and, his expression betraying nothing, said, “I was talking about your future wife.”

Arthur’s jaw ticked.

He had half-a-mind to cast that curse after all, but came to a sudden stop. As did Emrys. A cave’s entrance stood to their side, and there was no mistaking the energy that came from it. Arthur did not think he had ever felt such a pure touch of magic before.

“I think we’re here,” he said.

Emrys’s mood shifted. He grew, finally, quiet, and solemn, shoulders squared and taut as he stepped forward. Arthur followed suit.

The fairy light he had conjured to light their path followed them then sped ahead, showing them each turn to take and each spot where they should watch their step as they made their way through the cave’s chambers. Neither spoke a word.

They did not need the fairy light to know when they had come upon what they were truly looking for. The chamber glowed on its own, from what had to be a hundred crystals set inside it. If Arthur could believe there was ever one place where all magic was born, this would be it.

'Now what?' Emrys asked.

'This is your journey, my friend,' Arthur answered.

Emrys swallowed and nodded, then bravely ventured forward. Arthur’s heart beat faster as he watched him go, then slowly fade out of sight the further he went. He had watched him suffer since the day he had met him, seeing magic all around him yet missing his – heard all the stories of the great sorcerer he had once been.

What felt like an hour passed as Arthur only waited. Sometimes, he thought he could hear voices, as if Emrys were speaking to someone. He thought he could hear the crystals calling to him, too. He knew better than to try and take a closer look.

Finally, after near eternity, Emrys came out of the shadows once more. He stopped a little ways away, expressionless and unchanged as far as Arthur could see. His eyes brimmed with tears.

Arthur held his breath. He did not dare ask, or even speak a word, as he waited for Emrys to say something. If it had not worked…

But then, Emrys smiled a face-splitting grin, spread his arms, and a hundred blue butterflies sprung from thin air and filled every corner of the cave.

Voices filled every corner of his mind, like nagging whispers of his name drawing him out of his sleep.

Leon opened his eyes, blinked once, then sprung up in the bed.

“Gwen! What – ” He trailed off, taking in the sight in his sleeping quarters.

He looked from Gwen, who stood wringing her hands at the foot of his bed, to both her doubles – Guenevere, who had made herself comfortable in the one chair he had, and Gwenhwyfar, who stood leaning against his wardrobe with her arms crossed – then lastly, to the pile of black clothing in a heap on his floor. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be the listless form of Lord Agravaine.

Leon slowly dragged his eyes back to Gwen. “What’s going on?”

“It’s a long story,” Gwen said.

He listened to her recount it, from how her suspicions had arisen from things Guenevere had seen and told, to how they had all witnessed Lord Agravaine conspire with Morgana, right in the very heart of Camelot.

The gravity of this revelation weighed fully on Leon’s mind – just nearly erasing the absurdity of having three of the same lady and an unconscious lord in his chambers in the middle of the night. (Or what Gwaine would call a party.)

“And why is he knocked out?”

Gwenhwyfar rolled her eyes. “Well, excuse me,” she said, “if I thought this matter should be handled efficiently.”

That explained it, then. “Why have you not gone to the king?” he asked Gwen.

“He’s not here.”

Leon frowned. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know.” Gwen shook her head. “I saw him leave with Merlin earlier. I’ve no idea where he’s gone – or when he’ll return. I could only come to you.”

Leon said nothing for a time.

Gwen must have mistaken the reason behind his silence, for she bit her lip, then added, with fervor, “I know what I saw. I would not lie about this.”

“I do not doubt you,” Leon assured. She blinked once, as if surprised, then smiled in gratitude.

“Agravaine should be put in the dungeons before he can do further harm,” she said next, with greater resolve. “But this matter must be handled with care.”

“I agree,” Leon said, then came to a swift decision. “You should go, return to your chambers. I will take care of Lord Agravaine.”

The three did as he asked, and some time later, he did find them all again in Gwen’s guest quarters. He came inside when he was bid entrance – now finally looking dignified again in his armor – then quietly shut the door.

Gwen stepped forward to meet him halfway. “How is it?”

“The knights and I have arrested Lord Agravaine for treason,” Leon informed. “On the orders of the king.”

Her eyes went wide. “Leon – ”

“It is better this way,” he said. “No one knows Arthur has gone. Hopefully, he will have returned by morning, in time to bring Agravaine before the court.”

Gwen nodded along, though she still seemed torn. “How do you know that Arthur would approve of this?”

“Do you?” he asked in turn.

“Well, yes, but – ”

“Then I am sure,” Leon said simply. “After all, in the absence of the king,” he added with a smile, “such decisions fall to the queen.”

Her brow furrowed, as if weighted by uncertainty. Leon assumed she wondered, yet officially crownless, if the king would agree.

“Arthur trusts you,” he reassured. “He has chosen you to be his queen. I know, that if he were here, he would tell me to do as you say.”

Her expression softened. She nodded once more, firmly this time, then said, “Tell the others that the king wishes for his uncle to spend a night in the cells to think on his crimes. That should keep them from asking too many questions.”

“Of course,” he agreed.  “I know it is not easy,” he added, gently, when her forehead still creased in a frown, “to decide a man’s fate. To have him condemned on your word. But he is a traitor, and you have done the right thing.”

“I know, I just…” Gwen shrugged, then finally, offered him a smile. “I cannot tell you how much it means to me,” she said, “that you would trust me this way. Thank you.”

In Leon’s mind, she had earned it long ago. No one could deny her loyalty to the king. And, in these strange times when she was made to tell him all this in front of two creatures who bore her likeness yet came from entirely different worlds, he believed no one could deny her strength either.

So, he only bowed his head, and simply said, “My lady.”

Morgana crossed the threshold to her hovel, lowering the hood of her heavy cloak. She had ventured to Camelot herself with the intent to, for Agravaine’s ears, inform him of what Uther had told her. To tell him to thwart them where he could, now that she knew they wielded immortal weapons.

The truth was, perhaps she had just wanted to see them. These creatures that her sister had once told her of, partly teachings and partly legend, that were just like them, bore their likeness and their names, yet led entirely different lives, in a world just as real as this one.

But she had come upon none.

Either way, it mattered not. It changed nothing of their plans. Uther would see his purpose through, no matter the obstacles. He owed her at least this.

Closing the door shut behind her, she turned around – and froze in the spot.

“Hello, Morgana.”

In the middle of her hovel, was Arthur.

It seemed she had come upon one of the creatures after all.

She might have even mistaken him for the one she knew, but unless he had taken to wearing a beard and more fanciful armor, then he was another one entirely. Her eyes slipped to where the hilt of a sword shone golden at his hip.

“My dear brother,” she sneered.

“I am not the Arthur you know,” he said.

“Indeed not.”

He looked completely unbothered to be here, to be in her presence – at ease, even. She did not give all that much thought to what it would be like to see her true brother again, but he would certainly not look at her like this. Almost kindly, like he used to back when she believed they were friends.

She pushed that thought away. “Who brought you here?” she demanded, her mouth thinning. “Was it Emrys?”

“I will tell you if you answer a question for me first,” he said, then raised an eyebrow. “Where is the Horn?”

She laughed, then hardened her expression once more. “You should leave.”

He shook his head, ever so slightly. “Not before I have what I came for.”

He was as brave as Arthur, she would grant him that. And just as stupid.

“I have no quarrel with you,” she warned, “but I will not hesitate to end your life any more than I would my brother’s. Or that of his beloved Guinevere.” She smirked. “Or yours.”

His jaw clenched. They even had the same weak spot.

“Why should you care anyway?” she asked, truly curious. “About the life of a stranger from another world? It does not concern you.”

“Sometimes, we can only do what we believe is right.” He shrugged. “To hell with the consequences.”

He said it as if he knew it would mean something to her. As if he knew her.

“I know you must believe that, too,” he went on. “I know you. I know that what you truly love is magic. That what you seek is just the chance to be free. To be yourself. But this is not the way.” He shook his head. “You know I’m right. Put an end to this, Morgana. There is still time.”

Morgana ground her teeth. “I am not the Morgana you know either.”

“You are to me,” he said, completely earnest. “No matter the world, no matter our circumstances, you are always my sister. And I always love you.”

Tears began to sting her eyes and Morgana furiously blinked them away, anger bubbling inside her. At this arrogant, foolish man, who preached to her as if they were of a kind. And beneath that, anger at that part of herself, that she still carried from a time when she was younger, and scared –  that deep part of her that had always wanted for Arthur to, one day, just accept her for what she was.

She raised her chin. “I am a seer.”

Arthur’s double nodded, even smiled, just the faintest bit. “A powerful gift.”

If only for a moment, her heart broke.

“I had a dream that I could not explain,” she said. “I saw myself hold a child in my arms, singing lullabies of the Old Religion to put it to sleep. And then, when Uther told me of you, I realized – because of my great power, you coming into this world let me see a future beyond that of my own.” She swallowed. “That child…she’s yours, isn’t she?”

His smile was true now. “Yes.”

Of course. Those big, brown eyes on that little girl – there was only one woman who could have passed them on to her. Morgana had looked into them a thousand times before.

That sadness she felt when she had woken from the dream came over her again. Because that was not her life – because it was not she who was happy, and loved, because it would never be her that held that child and sent it to sleep with words of magic.

And then it passed.

“It is a shame,” she said, “that she will never have a chance to be born in this world. Not when her mother will be dead even before the night is done.”

For one long, unending moment, Arthur’s double only looked on her with mournful eyes, his face falling. Then, his expression showed nothing at all.

“The Horn, Morgana,” he demanded, his voice hard now. “I will not ask again.”

“Nor will I,” she retorted, raising her hand in the air, ready to end him on the spot. He did not move.

“Before you try and strike me down, you should know,” he said, gaze flicking to the side, “I did not come alone.”

She barely had a moment to turn, and catch a glimpse of the old face and white hair and beard that haunted her nightmares, before she was thrown back and the world turned black.

“I have the Horn,” Merlin said, gesturing to the protruding spot where he had hid it within the lining of his red robes. “Might this be the time for us to finally get out of here?”

Arthur did not answer, instead walking over to where Morgana had crashed to the ground and kneeling next to her. He sighed over her unconscious form, then gathered her in his arms and picked her up.

Merlin watched in silence as he carried her to her small, narrow bed and placed her atop the covers, before saying, “You know, she is no threat now. One move of my hand, and we could put an end to her right here. You would be doing your double a great favor.”

“That is not for us to decide,” Arthur said, covering Morgana with a blanket.

“Oh, so, now we’re not meddling in the fates of other worlds?”

Arthur said nothing.

“For all that you have learned, sire,” Merlin said, almost gently, “you still think only with your heart.”

Arthur nodded along absently. He cast one last look at the bed, then straightened back up.

“Goodbye, Morgana,” he said, and motioned for them to leave.

Chapter Text

Dawn broke as Arthur crept through the palace on silent feet, keeping to the shadows and avoiding the servants who had just begun their day. He did not want to be seen quite yet.

He and Merlin had returned from the woods and crossed paths with all four of their doubles at the gates of Camelot. Guenevere’s husband and Dragoon had produced the famed horn they had gone to find, much to Arthur’s relief. Gwenhwyfar’s prince and Merlin’s double had also come back from some kind of journey. They did not say what and Arthur did not ask.

He left them all to their own devices as he snuck into the castle. Armed with his new blade, which now hung from his belt, and the knowledge that his double and Dragoon had indeed been successful in their quest, he was filled with renewed confidence as he made his way to Guinevere’s guest quarters.

Before anyone else, he needed to see her.

Pulling the side door to her chambers open and closing it behind him just as quietly, he approached the large bed where she slept with careful steps.

She lay on her side under the blankets, still sound asleep, with her hands tucked under her cheek. For a moment, Arthur simply stood watching her, then brushed a loose strand of hair away from her forehead.

“Guinevere,” he softly called her name.

She stirred, eyelashes fluttering as she slowly came out of her sleep. A smile touched her lips when she first caught sight of him – before her eyes went wide and she shot up in the bed. Her mouth opened as if she were about to be loud but remembered herself just in time, and what came out instead was a whispered shout of his name. “Arthur!”

“Sorry.” He pressed his lips together to stifle a smile. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“What – ” She blinked at him. “Where were you?”

“That’s…a long story.”

Guinevere bit her lip. “Have you spoken to the knights yet?”

Arthur frowned. “No, I – ”

“There is something you should know.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait. Guinevere – ”

“No, Arthur, you – ”

“There is something I must show you first. Please,” he said, holding a hand out to her.

She hesitated for a moment still before she finally slipped her hand in his. She threw back the covers and slid off the bed, tucking her bare feet into her slippers as she stood. Arthur led her to the table and helped her settle into one of the chairs, then, when she rubbed her arms against the morning chill, went to fetch her a shawl to wrap around her nightdress.

She nodded in thanks then turned curious eyes on him, expectant. Arthur said nothing, only drew his new sword from its scabbard and laid it on the table before her.

“Whose is it?” she asked.

Arthur took a breath, turned his chair to face her as he sat down, and simply said, “Mine.”

“I don’t understand.”

He told her of Merlin’s bedtime stories, the sword in the stone and what it was supposed to mean. She interrupted only once, as she gently drew her fingers over the pommel, to ask, “You said Merlin knew where to find it?”

“Yes,” Arthur said. She made no further query.

He went on, to tell her everything of the journey he had been on, then of the impossible thing he had done, with Merlin and the forest as his only witnesses.

When he was finished, Guinevere did not speak for what felt like the longest time.

Arthur fought the urge to wring his hands in the silence, his whole body tight with a kind of urgency. He needed her to approve. It was all he had been waiting for since the moment he had pulled that sword out.

When he couldn’t bear to wait anymore, he asked, “What do you think?”

At last, her eyes brightened, and her mouth lifted into a smile. Arthur’s heart lifted with it.

“It’s amazing,” she said. “I am so proud of you, Arthur.”

A slow grin spread across his face. When Guinevere said it, it finally felt true.

“Though I never needed a sword,” she added, her voice softening, “to tell me you would be a great king.”

“Nor I another,” Arthur said, “to tell me that you would be a great queen.”

Her smile slipped. “I – ”

He reached out with his hands and took hers to put a stop to her arguments. There was something he needed to say first. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t much help yesterday.”

A great thing about pulling a sword out of a stone was that it gave one incredible perspective.

“What I should have said,” Arthur went on, “is that, if anyone understands what it is to question your ability to rule, it’s me.” All the gods in all the worlds knew probably it. “But I believe in you,” he told her, “more than…I have ever believed in myself, or anyone else.”

“Arthur…” Guinevere’s voice shook slightly.

He wrapped his fingers around hers and held on. “Of course, you were right, too,” he said. “We would not be having this problem with my father if you were more like your double. After all, she is a lady of great standing. The daughter of a king.”

Guinevere nodded. “Mm.”

“But I,” Arthur said, holding her gaze, “fell in love with the daughter of a blacksmith. There isn’t anything, that I would ever change about you.” Slipping one hand out of her grasp, he put a finger under her chin, and raised it higher. “Always thought you were perfect.”

And the smile she gave him in return was nothing short of it, either.

His eyes lingered on it for a moment, before he quirked an eyebrow. “Do you still want to marry me?”

She chuckled. “That was never in question.”

“So, that’s still a yes, then?”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, with all my heart.”

Arthur did not wait a moment more to lower his mouth to hers, kissing her softly.

“You’ve got me,” he promised against her lips. “Anything you need to know, I’ll teach you.”

Guinevere nodded slowly, resting her forehead against his. Yet the very next moment, she drew back. “Arthur, there is really something I  – ”

Then the warning bells started tolling.

“Gwenhwyfar.” Someone poked her shoulder. “Gwenhwyfar.”

She pulled her dagger from under the pillow and had it at their throat in a heartbeat. Then lowered it back down, huffing.

“For the love of the Goddess, Emrys.”

He stood by the bed of the chambers she had been given, grinning wider than she had ever seen him. Intrigued and a touch wary, she climbed out of bed, dragging her narrowed eyes from Emrys to Arthur, who stood impassive a few feet away, then lastly, to the windows. It was barely dawn.

“Where have you two been?” she demanded.

Emrys opened his mouth as if to answer, then cocked his head. “What on Earth are you wearing?”

Gwenhwyfar pursed her lips. “It was all they would give me.”

It being a damned nightdress – because Guinevere had insisted that she should not spend another night sleeping in her clothes and, “you should have those washed, please.”

White, long and with an embroidered neckline, it was the sort of thing worn by ladies who did apparently not need any range of motion for their legs – and who had certainly never taken up a sword in their lives. She had flexed her arms once and the seams had popped.

Gwenhwyfar had proceeded to tear off the sleeves altogether and throw them into the fireplace.

Emrys nodded. “You wear it well.”

She crossed her bare arms. “Emrys.”

Her tone put no dent in his good mood. He beamed at her again, saying, “I have something to show you.”

“Which is?”

She felt it a split-second before she saw anything at all. A powerful surge of magic, old and familiar, before Emrys’s eyes turned from blue to gold and every candle in the room was set alight with a tall flame.

They subsided slowly, as did the light in Emrys’s eyes, but Gwenhwyfar stayed rooted in the spot, staring at him. “What – how did – what – ”

“I found a way.” Emrys was nodding, his eyes filling with tears even as his smile somehow grew even bigger. “I did it.”

Gwenhwyfar threw her arms around him. He hugged her back with equal force, laughing in her ear.

“You have your magic back,” she said, her voice trembling. She had to say it aloud to believe it.

She felt him nod once more, followed by the wetness of his tears on her neck. Over his shoulder, she met Arthur’s eyes. She did not need any words, out loud or in her mind, to understand he felt everything she did.

Nor to remember the reason why his smile slipped the longer he held her gaze.

Shaking that thought away, she brought her attention back to Emrys, ruffling his hair fondly as she pulled away.

She opened her mouth to ask how he had done it, and was drowned out by the sounds of the warning bells.

A hand slipped over her middle under the covers as the bed dipped, and a warm chest pressed against her back.

Guenevere did not open her eyes. “You better be my husband,” she muttered.

His beard scratched her ear as he pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. “Indeed.”

She hummed, lacing her fingers with his as she twisted around to face him.

“Did you miss me?” He gave her a fond smile.

Guenevere kissed his forehead, then his mouth. “I did.”

“And I you,” Arthur said, as he always did, drawing her closer. She burrowed deeper into the warmth of him, the tension she had carried all through the night finally seeping out of her. He was back. It made everything better.

Over his shoulder, she caught a peek through the heavy drapes that hung over the windows. The sky was bright and grey. First light, if she had to guess.

Arthur’s armor was in a pile on the floor.

“How was it?” she asked softly.

“We have the Horn,” he said. “Merlin has taken it to Gaius’s quarters. He should be working on the enchantment as we speak.”

“And Morgana?”

“You were right,” was all he said.

Guenevere sighed, shifting around so they were chest to chest, and put her arm around him. “It changes nothing of who your sister really is.”

“I know.”

He hadn’t ever given her a reason to question it. Never once had she seen him doubt Morgana for having met one, or a dozen, of her doubles who wished him dead. For someone who so greatly believed in the constants of the worlds, he believed greatly in her, too.

He had a bigger heart than Guenevere ever did, and she loved him for that, too.

“I’m sorry,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. His eyes drifted shut. If she kept it up, he might fall asleep.

“It is what it is,” he muttered, drawing lazy patterns along her back. Voice hushed, he told her of a seer’s dream the Morgana of this world had dreamt – of their daughter, their Morgana, in their world.

“Did Merlin hear?” she asked.

“Mm. He says he’s the one who’s supposed to teach our daughter magic and that this means Morgana will surely try and cheat.”

“Sounds about right.” Guenevere chuckled.

Arthur smiled, slowly opening his eyes. “I’d never heard of it before. Seeing the future of other worlds.”

“You learn something new every day.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You would admit that even this world has something to teach us?”

That he asked only served to show how well he knew her. She almost denied it on principle alone, too. But – “Yes,” she conceded. “Even here, we have things to learn.”

“I’m glad you see things my way,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her.

She smiled into it, and never said that she was starting to suspect that if this world would teach her anything, it would be things about herself. Not necessarily those she wanted to admit, either.

“So,” Arthur asked, trailing his mouth along her jaw, then her shoulder, “did you do anything interesting while I was gone?”

Only if he considered being instrumental in catching a traitor interesting. “Well – ”

Her story got lost in the sounds of the warning bells.

“Agravaine has escaped, my lord,” Leon informed. “He tricked one of the guards into opening his cell then nearly strangled him to knock him out. He is gone.”

Gwen took the news in silence, wrapping the shawl tighter around her shoulders as she glanced sideways at Arthur. Barely moments ago, standing in much the same spot, he had looked so happy. Now his face was set in stone.

“Will he be alright?” Arthur asked, arms crossed. “The guard?”

Leon nodded. “Gaius believes so.”

“Good.” Arthur said nothing for a moment, then ordered, voice as devoid of emotion as his expression, “Search the lower town and the surrounding woods. Agravaine couldn’t have gotten that far. I want him found.”

“My lord.” Leon took his instructions readily, bowing his head before setting off to carry them out. He exchanged one last look with Gwen before he was out the door.

He left silence in his wake once more. Gwen did not speak, only watched as Arthur’s shoulders slowly slumped, then as he dragged himself to the nearest chair, and finally, lowered himself into it, burying his face in his hands.

Gwen’s heart sank.

Her feet were already carrying her to him before she had even given it any thought. Halfway there, she paused, unsure. “If you’d like a moment alone…”

Arthur only shook his head.

She took another step closer, until he was nearly within her reach. “I’m sorry if this wasn’t what you wanted,” she began, “but you mustn’t blame the knights. I saw Agravaine with Morgana, and they thought – ”

“No.” Arthur lowered his hands, though he still did not meet her eye. “You did the right thing. They were right to listen to you.”

“You must believe I would not have accused him if I wasn’t sure.”

“I know.” Arthur slowly nodded. Besides, Agravaine had fled. Gwen imagined that his escape confirmed his treachery in Arthur’s mind.

“I truly am sorry,” she said.

When he finally looked up at her, Arthur’s eyes were heavy with unshed tears.

Gwen sighed. “Oh, Arthur…”

Without a word, he reached with one hand to bring her closer and wrapped his arms around her. Gwen brought hers around him in kind, threading her fingers through his hair as he rested his forehead against her shoulder.

“I cared for him,” Arthur spoke quietly. “Like I did for my father. For Morgana. I just, I don’t understand. What have I done wrong, why do they all hate me?”

Gwen would that she had the answers. But she could no more hope to understand Agravaine, or Uther, than she once had Morgana – in the end, the best she could do was only to accept that she had changed.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Arthur,” Gwen soothed. That much, at least, she could say.

“Then why have they all betrayed me?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I wish I did. But,” she added, despite it all, “I do not think that your father hates you.”

“You sound like Merlin,” Arthur said wryly.

“Well, he has been right on occasion.”

It got Arthur to smile ever so slightly against her shoulder, if nothing else.

Gwen closed her eyes and held him tighter, pressing her lips to his forehead. “I do not know what Agravaine, or Morgana, hold against you,” she told him, “nor why Uther sees only his way of doing things. But you – ” she took his face in her hands – “are a good man, Arthur. You are a good king. You’ve proved that.” She stoked his cheek fondly. “Whatever happens, you must continue to believe that.”

Though his eyes were still red, his mouth lifted into the barest of smiles. Gwen smiled back, then wider still when his gaze slipped to the sword he had sheathed in its scabbard and laid out on the table.

She imagined people would have many questions about it. Truthfully, she did, too, even if they were really meant for only one person in particular.

“I’d understand,” she said, playing with the ends of Arthur’s hair, “if, with what’s happened, you’d still want to postpone the – ”

“No!” Arthur’s answer was immediate, then came again, softer, “No.” He tightened his arms around her. “The only thing that makes this easier to bear is knowing that tomorrow is our wedding day.”

Gwen dipped her head to kiss his mouth. “I do look forward to it.”

Arthur kept her close with a hand at the back of her head, every so often brushing his lips against hers. Gwen let her eyes drift shut and stayed with him this way, neither of them saying much else.

The quiet would surely not last, not when the castle was waking even sooner than it should with the news of Agravaine’s escape. Certainly not when the starting hour of last day of the tournament neared with each passing moment – a matter made all the more complex by the fact their doubles were meant to attend it in their stead.

Indeed, a knock sounded at the door, followed once again by Leon’s voice, saying, as had often been the case these past couple of days, “Sire, the tournament.”

Arthur and Gwen sighed as one.

“Now, remember, Sir Leon favors his left,” Arthur reiterated, standing with his double in one of the tents upon the tournament grounds, “Gwaine takes too long to raise his lance, and Percival always aims for the right shoulder.”

“Got it.” His double nodded with confidence.

Now dressed in Arthur’s own armor, clean-shaven and after his wife had taken a pair of scissors to his hair, they were so alike that Arthur could probably not distinguish him from his own reflection in the mirror. His appearance would certainly be enough to fool the people of Camelot.

Arthur remained to be convinced that his skills would, too. “Just,” he sighed softly, “try not to embarrass me.”

“Have no fear.”

A moment later, and with great sympathy, his double added, “I am sorry, though. About your uncle. It can’t be easy.”

Arthur quickly schooled his features so they would not betray him. Getting involved with this subterfuge and badgering his double with minutia about the knights’ weak spots had at least taken his mind off it.

It had lasted all of ten minutes.

Perhaps this ploy was welcome in more ways than one. If Guinevere’s safety was still the main reason he had allowed their doubles to take their place in the tournament, the truth was, Arthur felt in no mood to compete.

He acknowledged his double with a short, “Thanks,” looking away.

“Well, take heart. At least you’ve pulled a sword out of a stone, right?”

Arthur’s mouth twitched. News spread fast indeed. Merlin’s big mouth probably had a lot to do with it.

“The truth is,” Arthur said quietly, “it alone does not comfort me. Guinevere’s support does.”

It got a chuckle out of his double.

“At the end of the day, no matter how mighty, a sword is still just a sword,” he said. “If it means nothing to those you care for, it will mean nothing to you.” He shrugged. “And even if it means the world to you, it may not mean anything at all to those you care for.”

“Is that your way of saying that even it would not have changed my uncle’s allegiances?” Arthur asked dryly.

“Just in case you were wondering.”

He had, if only for a moment, and that his doppelganger could guess his mind so well made him uncomfortable in his own skin. Still, he pressed, “How can you know that? I don’t even know why…” He swallowed. “Why he betrayed me.”

“If he found such faults with you that he would rather serve your worst enemy, then no great deed or symbol would have been enough to change his mind.”

It was, unfortunately, sound logic. Wise, even. The sort of thing a man learned through his own trials. “Speaking from experience?”

“With Agravaine? Oh, no. The one I know is the most loyal man you will ever meet,” his double said. “Mother loves him.”

Arthur froze. “Mo – Mother?”

It seemed to dawn on his double just a moment too late. He pressed his lips together, nodding once. “She is alive.”

Arthur’s chest constricted so violently that he had to catch his breath. Mother, Agravaine, Morgana – his double had all of them, he had all of their love for himself. If only for a split-second, Arthur envied and resented him with every fiber of his being.

“Like…Dragoon says,” his double offered, as if in a placating gesture, “countless people, leading countless lives, in countless worlds. She was bound to be this one thing in one of them. As was Agravaine. Not all lives are foretold.”

Pressing a fist to his mouth to calm himself, Arthur took time to let it sink in. When it did, the words gave him pause. “Can I ask you something?”

“If you want.”

“Must everyone,” Arthur spoke, barely above a whisper, “who exists in one world also exist in the next?”

His double mulled it over. “Not necessarily,” he decided. “I have known some in one world that I have not known anywhere else. But it is also true that we do not all come into existence at the same time in one world as we do in the next,” he added with a smile – again, as if he could guess Arthur’s very thoughts. “That my daughter has been born already does not mean that yours will not be in future.”

“And if – ” Arthur bit his lip – “if that’s not what I want?”

His answer was long to come. In the end, it was simply, “Then it might be that she will truly never be born in this world.”

Arthur said nothing, only nodded his head quickly as he cast his eyes to the ground. Was it wrong that the thought brought him such relief?

“Well,” his double broke the silence, “I should probably get going.”

“Right.” Arthur cleared his throat. “Here.” He went to fetch a smaller lance off the rack, just for practice. Just before he presented it to his double, he paused, eyes narrowed. “You do know how to joust, don’t you?”

“Of course,” his double dismissed the alternative as if it were ludicrous, and Arthur cautiously transferred the lance to him. He took hold of it with the utmost confidence, tucking it under his arm.

It faced the wrong way around.

Humming a song under her breath, Gwenhwyfar turned over yet another shirt, inspected it, then tossed it over her shoulder with the rest.

Guinevere had, kindly, offered to let her help herself to anything in her closet, as her own clothes were still drying on a string somewhere. So far, the effort had been quite fruitless, what with most of the shirts Guinevere had being either too tight, too short – or too frilly.

At least she had found a nicely fitted pair of trousers, so there was at least that.

Not that anything had the power to put a damper on her mood. Emrys had his magic back. It was everything they had hoped for since the day Morgaine had taken it. Arthur, too, had grown his own magic in coming to this world – and his sister was none the wiser. Finally, they had the upper hand.

Gwenhwyfar was so happy about it, in fact, that she did not even dwell on the fact that both those things came to be under circumstances that defied everything she believed in.

The door of the royal chambers opened then shut, followed by a moment of silence, and then, “Guinevere?”

“No,” Gwenhwyfar replied, “it’s me.” Although, considering they had the same voice, it probably did not help Guinevere’s king much.

His footsteps drew nearer, then stopped quite abruptly. When Gwenhwyfar turned around, Arthur had spun away in his spot and put his hands on his hips, head tilted up as if towards the heavens.

She frowned at his back. “What is the matter with you?”

“You – ” Arthur sighed. “You’re not wearing a shirt.”

Gwenhwyfar glanced down at her naked chest, then back up, raising an eyebrow. “You lead an army,” she said. “Surely, you’re used to your men undressing in front of you?”

“Yes, they are…men.”

She had nearly forgotten that this world was backwards in more ways than one.

Rolling her eyes, Gwenhwyfar gave the closet her full attention once more. All this talk of men did give her a working solution to her predicament.

Hands reaching towards an altogether different pile of shirts, she said, “Well, I am sorry to have offended your sensibilities, my lord.”

“That’s not what – ” Whatever he meant to say, he gave up. “Why are you actually rifling through my wardrobe?”

“Your Guinevere said that I could borrow some of her clothes,” Gwenhwyfar muttered. “None seem to fit.”

“I can see why. I mean – not see, I didn’t – see, anything, I just meant that – you – ”

“It’s alright,” Gwenhwyfar said, desperately trying to hold back a laugh.

One could only hope that he would fare better when the time came to face his actual betrothed in a state of undress. The poor woman was so looking forward to it, too.

Finally putting her hands on what she’d been looking for, Gwenhwyfar pulled it over her head then said, “You can turn around now.”

As if he didn’t quite take her at her word, Arthur first carefully glanced over his shoulder, just to make sure. He cocked his head. “Is that my shirt?”

“Is that a problem?”

“It’s…fine.”

With such royal approval in mind, Gwenhwyfar went to put her belt in place and strap Excalibur to her back again. As she picked it up, she commented, “I hear you now wield its double in this world.”

“Did Merlin say that?”

“He could not wait to tell it.”

Arthur chuckled. He looked pleased with himself, too, and for once, Gwenhwyfar found one thing they understood each other on.

“It is a great gift,” she told him. “Use it wisely.”

He acknowledged her with a nod, before his eyes narrowed as if in thought. “Why do I have the feeling that I’ve somehow finally earned your favor?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

He laughed outright now, but he still seemed puzzled by something. “Can I ask – why is it, that out of everyone here, I am the only you do not treat as you do your own?”

“I…do not think that’s true.”

“It is,” Arthur insisted. “You hate my father because you did so in your world. On the other hand, Merlin, or even Elyan…you are as kind to them as you would be to yours. So, why not to me?”

Gwenhwyfar opened her mouth to deny it, but nothing came out. She wanted to say it was because they were not the same, because no likeness could change the fact that he and her Arthur were entirely different men.

Except he had a point.

Perhaps Guenevere was right and her time here had changed her, because Gwenhwyfar took a deep breath and admitted, “You’re right.”

Arthur could not look more shocked at hearing it.

“The truth is,” she said, “I am not as immune to these things as I’d like to think. I look at everyone here, and I see mine. But…it’s different, with you, with…” She let out a quiet sigh. “With my Arthur.”

She looked at everyone else and saw the things they shared with hers. She looked at the man in front of her, and all she saw were the things that were different.

“Perhaps I do judge your faults more harshly than I would another’s,” she went on, deep in thought, “but that is because I cannot help but see them as all the ways in which you are different from the Arthur I know. Because to me, he alone is perfect.”

She realized what she had confessed to only a moment too late. By the looks of him, Arthur was not expecting it either.

Gwenhwyfar cleared her throat and hastily looked away, busying herself with securing her dagger to her belt to hide the fact that her face was getting hot.

As she silently prayed to the Goddess to open the ground and let it swallow her whole, Arthur said, “I understand.”

Her head snapped around to him. “What?”

He shrugged. “I feel the same way about Guinevere.”

“Right,” Gwenhwyfar muttered. Gathering some courage, she added, “Can I ask you something?”

“If you like.”

“Would you still want her to be your queen if she weren’t? Perfect, I mean.”

The corner of Arthur’s mouth lifted into a soft smile. “Yes.”

“And if – ” she swallowed – “if it were the other way around, if she had to decide what was best for Camelot, and she was perfect and you were not…would you still want her to choose you?”

This time, he faltered, no answer at the ready. At length, he only said, “I don’t know.”

The trouble was, neither did she.

Not that they were talking about her.

She was just about to tell Arthur to forget that she had ever asked, when he spoke again, saying it like it was just the simplest thing in the world.

“All I know is, I would want her to be happy.”

Her husband held up his lance in victory, getting a roar out of the crowd.

The people loved their king, Guenevere would give them that.

Arthur grinned atop his horse, then wider still when he met her eyes, where she sat high up in the stands. Guenevere smiled back. It was just like home.

Except she was dressed in another’s clothes, wore her hair another’s way, and her husband looked like another’s betrothed. That, and she sat waiting with fear prickling at the back of her mind that another’s enemy would come and cleave her head from her shoulders.

But otherwise, just like home.

If she held on to that, to Arthur’s eyes lighting up like a boy’s because he had impressed her with his skill, then she could feel less afraid.

“My lady.”

Guenevere nearly jumped out of her own skin, a scream dying in her throat.

“Merlin,” she hissed out of the corner of her mouth. “What are you doing?”

“Just keeping an eye on things.” His voice, gravelly like that of the old man he was cursed to be, came from somewhere behind her.

Though he was nowhere to be seen by the naked eye, some rustling and a deep sigh indicated that he had come around to settle in the chair next to hers, which should have been left for the king’s uncle, but now sat empty – on account of all the unspeakable betrayal and such.

“Walking about like this is unwise,” Guenevere tried to speak without actually moving her lips. No easy feat.

“I’m invisible,” Merlin replied, quite unbothered.

“And if someone hears you?”

“There is a crazed, dead tyrant on the loose,” Merlin reasoned. “You cannot expect me to leave you unprotected.”

“You mean leave Arthur unprotected?”

“Same difference.”

Guenevere stifled a chuckle.

“Even if I did not care a great deal about you, Guenevere, which I do,” Merlin went on, his tone gentler, “you are Arthur’s heart. Protecting him will always mean protecting you, too.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Merlin,” she said softly.

“It is only fact.”

He did love those.

Guenevere spared a moment to smile and clap for the new knight who had won his round, some young thing who looked like he was barely old enough to compete. The crowd cheered in kind.

“They do love their future queen, don’t they?” Merlin mused as the sounds winded down.

“You think so?”

“Look at them,” he said. “They’re so happy. So many. They cheer when you cheer. The knights practically fall all over themselves trying to impress you.” He clucked his tongue. “If your double does survive the day, she will be quite well-loved indeed.”

Indeed, Guenevere thought to herself, casting her eyes over the stands. Every last spot was filled, every last man, woman and child wearing smiles on their faces and waving flags in the colors of Camelot. Gods only knew what Uther saw instead, when he looked at them, if he believed that Guinevere did not belong here.

“How is everything?”

“In place,” Merlin said. “I’ve enchanted the Horn. It should be enough to let Arthur’s double send his father back to the spirit world. Now, all that’s left to do is for him to use it.”

If she thought she detected a hint of doubt in his tone – likely in the man’s ability to actually carry out this endeavor –, Guenevere did not comment on it.

After a time, during which two new knights faced each other and one ended up in the dirt, Merlin spoke again. “So…I hear the king found his own Excalibur. Drew it out of a stone.”

He strived to sound nonchalant but he betrayed himself entirely. Guenevere would not indulge him, only replying, “I have heard the same.”

Merlin waited and waited for her to take his bait – and she did not – until he finally burst out, “Only his manservant saw!”

Guenevere ducked her head to hide her smile.

To no surprise, Arthur won the last joust of the tournament (Guenevere suspected that Merlin may have had a hand in that), emerging victorious. When he got off his horse and climbed onto the stands, to take her in his arms and give her a searing kiss, Guenevere thought that the people’s cheers would deafen her.

But that part, at least, was exactly like home.

By the time they had rejoined the others within the palace, Merlin was once more visible to all, and Arthur’s beard and hair were back to their previous length. No one asked how.

No more than they asked how men who hadn’t slept in days could remain so alert. If Guenevere had to guess, it had something to do with Emrys’s famed wakefulness potion – whether it had been ingested willingly or slipped into a cup here and there.

They gathered in the royal chambers, come nightfall. The hilt of Excalibur shone in three different hands, Sir Leon stood silent watch, a frown of worry etched into his brow, and the Horn of Cathbhadh sat at the center of the table.

It was time.

Chapter Text

Gwen ran, feet catching on the ends of her skirts. Her heart pounded in her ears like war drums, nearly drowning out everything else.

Faint echoes still reached her, from somewhere far in the castle. A crash. Yelling. Screaming. She didn’t have the time to look back.

She stumbled into the throne room, empty at the dead of night. She stopped in the middle of it, her ragged breaths loud and heavy in the silence.

A chill swept through, making cold slither down her spine. Gwen spun around, her stomach sinking.

Uther had found her.

One hour earlier

The trouble with having as many heads thinking on a single problem, was that it resulted in just as many potential solutions.

Gwenhwyfar, a lifetime of battlefield strategy behind her, proposed as many different ways to entrap Uther as there had been battles. None fit with Arthur’s request to not wake the entire castle in the process.

Gwenhwyfar’s Arthur and Merlin favored the use of magic – and the latter seemed quite keen on that – to be met with various degrees of protest, and a strangled sound coming from Sir Leon.

Guenevere took on the thankless role of pointing out the flaw with each new plan as it came to be, while her husband let it be known that he still believed Excalibur was the only right way to put an end to Uther. Dragoon only looked like all this talk was giving him a massive headache.

Gwen, for her part, kept stealing glances at Merlin, where he stood in silence behind Gaius. There was an idea forming in her mind, about him, about what he might be, like the answer to a riddle posed many years ago. She just couldn’t decide what that answer was quite yet.

“Can we at least agree,” Guenevere was saying, “that it is Arthur who must face his father? Any plan we make must be done with that purpose in mind.”

“But we cannot assume,” Dragoon spoke, “that Uther does not know we have the Horn, and how we intend to use it. Any plan we make must also be done with that in mind.”

With that in mind indeed, Gwen believed their only true course of action was subterfuge. “Then perhaps,” she said, “the best thing we can do, is to try and trick him.”

 “If we were to make him believe that sending him back to the spirit world was not our true purpose,” Guenevere followed her line of thinking without missing a beat, “at least not yet, then he might lower his guard.”

“I say we let him think we are taking Guinevere out of Camelot,” Gwenhwyfar joined in. “For her safety, until it is over. That would surely urge him to act.”

The plan, as such, was quite sound. This time, however, it was Arthur who found its flaw.

“If we were to make my father believe it,” he said, “then that would mean putting Guinevere in harm’s way.”

“There is no reason why any harm should come to her,” Gwenhwyfar countered, “if you do your part as you should.”

Arthur faltered, no reply at the ready. With a quiet sigh, Gwen reached over, to cover his hand with hers atop the table.

“He does have a point,” Leon spoke up. “There is a great deal of risk involved. We would be using you as bait, Gwen.”

She was ever so aware of that fact. It made her heart race in her chest and her stomach twist itself in knots.

“I know.” She nodded. “But I am not frightened.”

From across the table, Guenevere was watching her keenly, something troubled about her expression. Dragoon drew Gwen’s attention before she could think on it.

“Besides,” he said, “do we have any better ideas?”

They did not.

Preparations to make it look like they were smuggling her out of Camelot required about just as much effort as it would take to actually do it.

Arthur, his doubles, Leon and Gwenhwyfar took to the task quite seriously, devising the same strategies they would use if it were real.

Gwen retired to her guest quarters in the meantime, allowing herself a moment of solitude. The question weighed on her mind, heavier than ever.

What if this was the night she died?

With no one around to see it, Gwen let out a long, uneven breath, burying her face in her hands. She was so frightened.

But when Arthur came to find her, shutting the door quietly behind him, she pretended to be brave again.

“We’re almost ready,” he said. “The others are preparing.”

“What have you decided?”

“We’re going to take the northern path out of the castle,” Arthur laid out the plan, the same way she’d heard him explain battle tactics a dozen times before. “You, me, Gwenhwyfar, her Merlin and Sir Leon. The rest will stay behind. Once my father is lured out and tries to stop us, I…will use the horn to send him back to the spirit world.”

Gwen nodded. “Good.”

That she was pleased seemed to comfort Arthur, though his solemn expression never eased. “I promise I will not give him the chance the harm you again.”

“I know.” Gwen put on a smile, closing the distance between in a few short strides. Arthur took her hands in his, holding them as if in reassurance. But Gwen knew him too well.

“There is plenty that could go wrong,” she admitted. “But there is no point in dwelling on that. I – ” she slipped one hand out of his grasp, to run her fingers over his cheek – “would much rather spend this time thinking of the good things to come.”

Arthur’s mouth slowly lifted at the corners. “Tomorrow is our wedding day.”

“Indeed.” Gwen drew closer to him still, tracing the edges of his smile with her eyes. Even as her chest tightened at the thought that she might truly not see it come, she said, “I’ve been waiting for it.”

Arthur bent his head to touch his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. “As have I.”

Guenevere talked about fate, about things that were meant to be. For all that she wondered, Gwen didn’t really believe that. But now, as the final hour drew near, she wished so badly for it to be true.

She let her own eyes drift shut. “Do you know what I’ve been thinking about?” she asked.

“What’s that?”

She told him about the small, silly things. How her heart did a funny thing the first time she hung her new dresses next to his shirts. How it did it again when she started bringing all her little potions and ladies things inside his chambers. How she worried, an inordinate amount, about where Merlin would fit into all of this.

Arthur laughed lightly at all of it. He finally looked happy again – free of his father, his uncle, his sister, of everything that had and could yet go wrong – and all Gwen wanted, was to make it last just a little while longer.

“I love you, Arthur,” she said. “You know that, don’t you?”

Maybe he didn’t, not really, not as such, because something like surprise crossed his expression for a split-second. He still bobbed his head in the tiniest nod, softly mouthing, “I know,” before he grinned, as she widely as she had ever seen him do.

Tears stung her eyes. “Whatever I have said, whatever doubts I’ve had,” she began, “I have always wanted to be with you. To be your queen.” No matter how hard she tried, there was still a tremble in her voice. “I just wanted you to know that, too.”

“I know,” he said again, his brow starting to crease in a little frown.

Gwen stopped herself before she ruined it, that happy look on his face. She smiled for him instead, and gently brought his head down to hers to give him a kiss, slow and unhurried – like they weren’t pressed for time, like there was nothing hanging over their heads. Like there was no reason to think they wouldn’t get to do this a thousand times more.

Gwenhwyfar ran the whetstone over Excalibur, one side of the blade then the other.

It was ritual more than necessity, as Excalibur’s edge never seemed to dull, no matter how many things, living or dead, it had cut through. But the rhythmic pass of stone over steel had something calming about it, something she could do before battle, that left her mind free of distractions.

Distractions such as Arthur.

“You’re sure you don’t want me with you?”

It was that much harder not to think of him when he was right across from her. Gwenhwyfar lifted her eyes from her sword.

“I’m sure,” she said. “It’s better that you stay behind. We cannot truly predict Uther’s actions. Someone should stay with Guenevere, too.”

“She’s already got her husband with her.” (He’d insisted, of course.)

“What great magic could he wield against a ghost?”

“They have Dragoon, too.” (He’d insisted upon it himself.)

“He’s hardly as spry in this form.”

“And Merlin.” (Per his king’s insistence.)

“Well, he’s just…not as experienced.”

Arthur scrutinized her in silence, his gaze unwavering, and Gwenhwyfar – well, Gwenhwyfar just wasn’t good enough of a liar not to look away first.

He scoffed, like he knew very well these were all excuses.

He wasn’t wrong. It had been her request.

There had been an ever-present tension between them since he had tended to her injuries, pulled as tightly as a bowstring about to be released. Especially when there was no Emrys, no one else, around to ease it. She could hardly bear to be in his presence. How could she possibly hope to carry out her task if he was right next to her?

“Just,” Arthur sounded resigned, “just be careful.”

“I will,” she promised.

He scoffed again, like he knew that was a lie, too. “Well, I should, uh, just go on and take my position then, shouldn’t I?”

He turned to leave her guest quarters and, before her head could catch up with her mouth, Gwenhwyfar called after him. “Arthur, wait.”

Pausing by the doors, he looked over his shoulder, watching her expectantly.

Gwenhwyfar, for all that she had told herself that she would leave this well enough alone, still stood from her chair and took a step closer. She couldn’t put the talk she’d had with his double from her mind. It swirled around, feeding into her own doubles’ words, like an incessant, irksome cacophony in her head.

“I just, I have something to ask you,” she said. “It has nothing to do with Uther.”

“Alright.”

“I wondered…” She took a deep breath. “If…if you marry Mithian,” the words just barely rolled off her tongue, “will you be unhappy?”

Arthur didn’t answer at first. He only watched her for a while longer, his expression inscrutable, then simply said, “Yes.”

Gwenhwyfar swallowed. It was a stupid question, but she asked anyway. “Why?”

Moments passed, ticking by in silence again, and Gwenhwyfar felt the air itself grow so thick and stifling that she could hardly breathe.

Then, Arthur chuckled faintly, the hint of a smile on his lips as turned back around to her, and all the tension between them seemed to fade away.

“I love you, Gwen,” he said, like it was just the simplest thing. “I’ve loved you for a long time. Someone so…strong, and kind, who wanted all the same things for Camelot that I did. I never imagined that such a person existed,” his voice softened. “And then, there you were.”

On a hill overlooking a losing battle, forging her sword in a dragon’s breath. She remembered.

Like she remembered him. A stranger who brought her enemies down for her, then suddenly a prince talking about a Camelot where she and hers would be free. She never imagined someone like him existed either.

Emrys, and perhaps even Kilgharrah, would say that she should have, because it was fate, because legend had foretold it – because it had been coming since the day her parents had chosen this name for her.

“But you can’t tell me that you did not already know all that,” Arthur went on, his eyes growing colder. “So, is there any reason in particular you’re making me say it now?”

She did know. For all that she denied it, she knew. She’d probably always known.

And she tried to speak, to put into words – any words – everything that had been going through her head since she had come here, about crowns and queens and pretty dresses. Just this once, she tried to be brave about this.

Nothing came out.

Arthur nodded, like it was exactly what he’d been expecting.

“I understand,” he said, and the tension returned tenfold, “that you do not want the same as I do. Not when it comes to this, anyway.”

“I – ”

“I would never try and convince you otherwise. But I think…I think that this should probably be the last time that we speak of it.”

“Arthur – ”

“I must go.”

Gwenhwyfar had nothing to say to stop him.

The royal chambers were as crowded as the market on a busy day, and for a moment, Guenevere thought that, no matter all the worlds she had seen, no matter all the stories she had heard, this was truly the strangest adventure that she had ever been a part of.

As the others readied, she tried to speak, once, twice, even a third time – but as soon as the words formed on her tongue, her heart would nearly start to give out.

Even when tried to prove that fear did not rule her, it still did.

The king was ready, clad in his armor and with the Horn of Cathbhadh and his new blade secured to his belt. Behind him, Gwenhwyfar was armed with hers, too. (At any moment, she seemed to be studiously avoiding her prince’s eyes, then stealing glances at him when he wasn’t looking.)

By the doors, Sir Leon stood in silence, waiting.

Guenevere swallowed. Come on, she told herself, just do it. Come on.

Arthur’s double gave one last nod of his head, to indicate it was time – which meant Guenevere had finally run out of hers. Come on…

He held his hand out to Guinevere, grasped it when she came to his side, then took a deep breath, and said, “Let’s go.”

Come on. “Wait,” Guenevere called out.

Everyone stilled.

Willing her hands not to shake, she strode forward with purpose, then, once standing before Guienevere, took her jewels out of her hair, and put them in her hand.

“I will take your place,” she said. Now that she’d done it, it amazed her how calm she sounded.

Her husband sprang forward immediately. “What are you doing?”

She turned around to face him. “Let me do this.”

“What – why?” He sounded bewildered.

“A true subterfuge,” she said, “requires more than one sleight of hand. She is safer this way.”

“You won’t be!”

She swallowed. “I want to do this.”

“Alright, well – I will come with you, I – ”

“No.” Guenevere shook her head. “I have to do this alone.”

“Absolutely not, you – ”

“Please,” she interrupted softly. “Just this once, I’d like to be brave,” she said. “All on my own. Even when you are not with me.”

Something flickered in Arthur’s expression. He put his hands on her shoulders. “You have nothing to prove.”

“I do,” she was firm. “If only to myself. I have never dared to do anything more than I was supposed to, I’ve never had the courage. I don’t want my daughter to learn that from me. She is,” her voice shook, “so much like me already. I dread, more than anything, that she will take after me in this way, too.”

That she would always be afraid, that she would never stray from the safe path because of it – that she would have her fate.

“I don’t want her to have a coward as a mother.”

“You are not – ”

“And I don’t want my husband,” she interrupted again, laying a hand over his heart, “who is the most fearless man that I have ever known, to have one as a wife.”

“Guenevere…”

Some lives were foretold. But Gwenhwyfar said that their lives still only showed their meaning at the end, so maybe – maybe this one act of bravery could be part of hers. Maybe, for once, she could be more than what she was supposed to be.

I am brave, she said it her head, again and again, to make herself believe it. I am brave. I can be brave.

Arthur would cave, she knew it. He had never denied her anything. And at length, though it seemed to pain him, he did give a single, reluctant nod.

The next moment, he ran a hand through his hair nonetheless, releasing a ragged breath as he shook his head. “I don’t like this.”

Guenevere smiled faintly. “Now you know how I feel every time you do something of the sort.”

He gathered her in a hug, holding her as tightly as he did the day he found her in the Dark Tower.

“Be careful.” He put his mouth by her ear. “I wouldn’t bear to lose you. I love you more than I can say.”

Guenevere closed her eyes, burying her face in his shoulder. “I know.”

“So far, so good.”

While Gwenhwyfar and her Merlin took the rear of the party, and Leon the front, Arthur stayed close to Guenevere as they walked down the deserted hallway.

He’d had Leon impose a mandatory curfew beforehand, so as to avoid any collateral damage. True to form, Leon had carried out the task without fault, though he had, upon doing so, and looking worn beyond belief, informed Arthur that the other knights had asked questions. (“So many questions,” he’d sighed.)

“How long before we reach the northern gate?” Guenevere spoke again. If Arthur didn’t know a switch had been made, he absolutely would have mistaken her for his Guinevere.

“At this pace, half an hour,” he replied.

She nodded, turning her gaze straight ahead once more. Arthur glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

He was still surprised. Guenevere, possibly one of the most frightened women he had ever met, asking to make herself a target? He couldn’t have dreamt it.

But he could not deny – though he would never admit to the extent of it – that he’d been relieved. She was right. Guinevere was safer this way, and Arthur’s head was that much clearer for it.

That relief had been tempered by her husband, however.

He’d come up to him, and everything that rubbed Arthur the wrong way about the man – his excessive cheer, his exuberance, his constant need for chatter – they’d all been gone. His face was set in stone.

“If anything happens to her,” he’d said, simply, coldly, “I will kill you.”

The torches lining the walls flickered, and Arthur immediately looked over his shoulder to Gwenhwyfar.

She shook her head. “He’s not here yet.”

Arthur still remained tense, his every sense on alert. Waiting for his father kept him close to Arthur’s thoughts. You consort with sorcerers, he’d accused, and Arthur could not deny that either.

He relied on two druids, who loved such practices, to help him. He entrusted Guinevere’s safety with two who did practice it, and one who espoused its uses. He walked beside one who did the same.

He’d allowed all of it, their presence and their magic, because Guinevere’s life mattered more than – more than anything else. At some point, and Arthur could not tell when, he’d stopped thinking about it altogether. About the magic.

Maybe he was changing.

His father condemned him for ruining his legacy. And for a moment – the only one that he had to spare for it – Arthur wondered what his would be.

Leon stopped suddenly, drawing his sword. An unfinished warning left his throat before he was thrown against the wall, slumping to the ground.

Gwenhwyfar and Merlin drew their own swords, as did Arthur, pushing Guenevere behind him.

At the end of the hallway, her black cloak dragging on the ground, was Morgana.

Chapter Text

Gwaine had had enough.

He’d asked no questions when Gwen’s doubles appeared out of nowhere nearly three days ago, none when they seemingly disappeared not a day later – none even when Gwen unmasked Agravaine as a traitor.

But Leon, looking shifty, coming to tell them that the king had imposed a curfew for reasons unknown, whilst apparently having no need for his knights’ protection? That was just outside of enough.

Why was the future queen even following the king’s uncle around? What became of her doubles and where, exactly, were they these days? How come Arthur was chipper as a bird the last day of his tournament, when he had just learned that his uncle was the vilest kind of traitor?

And why, pray, was everyone so vague about the supposed threat in Camelot if, as Gwaine and his brothers believed, the dead assassin had been traced back to Odin?

Faced with all these questions, Gwaine gathered Elyan and Percival in his quarters come nightfall. Leon was, so very curiously, nowhere to be found.

After much deliberation over a cup of wine, it was decided that they could not, and would not, stand for having the truth hidden from them in this callous manner.

And so, having donned their armors and picked up their swords, they set out into the castle against the king’s orders. The halls were eerily quiet.

In the silence, Percival and Elyan’s breathing, and even his own footsteps, sounded far too loud to Gwaine’s ears, making the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end. A weight settled into the pit of stomach.

Then he heard it. Faint at first, but growing louder, nearer, by the second.

Sounds of people running, followed by distorted, muffled calls to go faster, and a woman’s distressed cry.

As the sounds approached to just within reach, Gwaine and the knights drew their swords, exchanging one last look.

Gwaine came out from behind the corner first, blade held high, and nearly took the head off a panting, red-faced Arthur.

Behind him, an equally out-of-breath Gwenhwyfar held Gwen’s hand – she looked like Gwen, at least –, whose hair was falling out of her braid in fistfuls. Merlin was with them, too – except he didn’t really look like Merlin at all.

“Move!” Arthur yelled.

“But, sire, what – I don’t understand – ”

“My father’s ghost is trying to kill Guinevere,” Arthur’s voice dripped with urgency, “and now Morgana’s here – so, move!”

Whatever Gwaine had been expecting to hear, it wasn’t – that.

Gwen sat at the table of the royal chambers, Guenevere’s famed jewels weighing down her head and her whole body tensing with anticipation.

Such tension practically rolled off Guenevere’s husband, too, though he, unlike her, made no effort to hide it, as he paced tight circles by the doors. Gwen wondered if he was talking himself out of springing through them and taking off after his wife.

His double wasn’t faring much better but, instead of pacing, he seemed to prefer standing perfectly still by the window. Gwen couldn’t quite decide if he had picked it up from Gwenhwyfar, she from him, or if they were both just born with the same habit.

Dragoon, sitting opposite her, had his eyes trained solely on his king, as if suspecting the same thing as Gwen, and readying, at any moment, to stop it from occurring.

Merlin was the only one moving in the room, and even then, it was only to – senselessly – keep bringing everyone wine.

“Sit down, please,” Gwen told him when he came around to her again, pitcher unfailingly in hand.

He mumbled something in return, which may have sounded vaguely like, ‘got to keep busy.’

Gwen understood. She practically itched to do the same, to do something, anything, just to keep her mind occupied elsewhere. But they were both confined, by order of the king, to waiting and worrying until it was over.

“I already worry about Guinevere,” Arthur had told Merlin, before Guenevere had stepped up to take her place. “I can’t worry about you, too.”

After Guenevere had made her request, Merlin had sprung forward hopefully, asking to go with Arthur now. Arthur just said, “No, Merlin.”

“I’m worried, too,” Gwen said, catching Merlin’s eye. “But Arthur was clear.”

Merlin looked ready to argue, then sighed, his expression troubled. “He needs me, Gwen.”

“I know,” she said softly. Perhaps, in a way she had yet to truly put her finger on.

If Merlin sensed something behind her words, he had no chance to comment on it, for Guenevere’s husband had, evidently, run out of the little patience he had to begin with.

“This is taking too long,” he said.

With a calm his king lacked entirely, Dragoon replied, “It’s barely been a quarter hour, sire.”

Arthur huffed, then stopped and declared, “I should go after them.”

“You should not.” Dragoon shook his head.

This fell on deaf ears, and some arguing ensued, as Arthur’s convictions remained and Dragoon tried to temper them.

The cycle was, ultimately, broken by Gwenhwyfar’s prince, who turned around slowly and, looking put-upon, ended his long silence by saying, “Calm yourself, Your Highness.”

Arthur immediately snapped, “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

Shaking his head as if in disbelief, Arthur demanded, “How can you be so content to just stand around, doing nothing?”

“It’s the plan.”

“I don’t care what the plan is, she is my wife.”

“I know what she means to you,” his double said, “but she chose to go. It was her decision. This is the plan,” he repeated. “We stay here.”

“Whatever she chose, she is in danger,” Arthur retorted. “I can’t just stay here.” His mouth twisting, he added, “I don’t expect you to understand.”

The prince stood rooted in his spot, unmoving, for a long moment, before his entire face contorted, and he burst out, “I wouldn’t understand?”

Gwen had never seen the man lose his composure like this. She hadn’t thought him capable of it.

“I have spent years,” he went on, stepping forward as if blindly carried by emotion, “watching Gwenhwyfar go off to wars, and witch hunts, and every possible battle she could think of, including this one – and I couldn’t stop any of it, I couldn’t even be with her for most of it. Do you really think,” his voice rose, “that I don’t understand what it means to stand by and watch as the woman I love puts herself in danger?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

The man himself, as if only too late realizing how far he’d gone, averted his gaze and, without any further word, made a hasty retreat back to the window.

No one neither moved nor spoke for a long time.

Merlin, possibly in a desperate bid to diffuse the tension, lifted his pitcher and opened his mouth as if about to ask about the wine again. Gwen put a hand on his arm to stop him, shaking her head.

Arthur made no further moves towards the door.

Gwenhwyfar stayed at the back as they ran, blood rushing to her ears as she looked over her shoulder.

She followed the others blindly through the unfamiliar halls of this palace, amidst Elyan shouting something about the west wing to his king and Gwaine falling into step with Emrys, saying, “You’re not really Merlin, are you?”

She looked over her shoulder again. In this world, too, Morgaine’s magic was powerful. They couldn’t outrun it.

Gwenhwyfar stopped, taking a deep breath. “You go on,” she said. “I will hold her back.”

“Gwenhwyfar, no.” Emrys took a hurried step toward her.

“We can’t hope to escape her like this,” she reasoned. “She will catch up to us. Someone needs to distract her.”

“You can’t mean to face her by yourself again,” Guenevere said.

“This is different.”

She wasn’t being reckless this time. It wasn’t hatred for the witch she knew that drove her. This was battle, and in battle – this was what she did. What she would always do.

She found Arthur among his knights, holding his gaze. He nodded once.

“No, no, she’s right,” Emrys was saying. “You can’t do this alone. I will stay with you, I – ” He swallowed. ‘I have my magic now, I can help.’

“No.” She shook her head. ‘They need you more.’

‘You need me more!’

‘If Arthur fails to subdue his father – ’

‘Against Morgaine – ’

‘Against Uther,’ Gwehwyfar said, ‘they will be helpless.’

“But – ”

“Go,” she ordered. “Get Guenevere to safety. I’ll be fine.” In battle, she was always fine.

But Emrys still wouldn’t yield. “You don’t know that.”

He was wasting time. Morgaine was nearly upon them.

‘Emrys – ’ “Go.”

“Arthur wouldn’t want me to leave you.”

Gwenhwyfar’s patience snapped. “Arthur is not your commander,” she let out, “I am! Now go!”

Emrys’s eyes were pleading. “Gwenhwyfar…”

“Go.”

He finally did, trailing after the rest of them, his eyes never once leaving hers as he retreated, until he went out of sight.

Alone, Gwenhwyfar blew out a long breath. She gripped Excalibur in her hand, and finally turned back to face the empty hallway.

A moment later, Morgaine appeared at the far end of it.

In their world, she favored bright colors and rich silks, the perfect image of the queen she believed herself to be. In this world, she looked like a creature of the night, the sort of thing they frightened children with, her black cloak dragging on the ground. The mad look in her eyes was just the same, though.

She approached Gwenhwyfar, her pace unrushed, almost languid, as her mouth twisted into a smirk.

“Uther’s told me about you,” she said, sizing her up as if she were some curiosity.

Gwenhwyfar swallowed back bile. Goddess, she really did hate her. In every form, every world.

She shifted her stance, holding Excalibur higher.

Morgaine laughed at her, a short and hollow sound. Just like the one she knew. “You can’t stop me with that.”

“This is no ordinary blade,” Gwenhwyfar said.

“Oh, I know.” Morgaine’s eyebrow twitched. “I know what it is. Which is why – ” she raised her hand – “I’ve prepared for it.”

Gwenhwyfar couldn’t fathom what she meant. Then Excalibur was taken out of her hands.

She tried to grip it again, but it went out of her reach. It flew into the air in front of her, just like it had the night Kilgharrah had forged it to her name – except now it turned against her, spinning around until its blade pointed at her instead of her enemies.

All at once, she felt a loss, like someone had torn a limb from her body. Excalibur wasn’t hers anymore.

Gwenhwyfar stood motionless, paralyzed by a kind of fear, a helplessness, she had never felt before. She couldn’t move, not even as Excalibur hurled at her, sailing through the air.

In the royal chambers, Gwen slowly made her way to Gwenhwyfar’s Arthur, standing again by the window and keeping, if possible, even more quiet than before.

He only reacted to her presence at his side with a fleeting glance in her direction, before turning his eyes forward again.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Fine, thanks.”

He did look it.

“I am sure that Gwenhwyfar will be fine,” she offered. “She is a great warrior. She can look after herself.”

Arthur said nothing for a moment, then let out a quiet sigh. “That hardly helps. Not when she is always the first one to answer to a fight.”

“I know.” Gwen smiled faintly, then a little wider when he looked at her askance. “My Arthur is the same way. But it’s what I always tell myself. That he’ll be fine. It makes it easier to bear.”

It earned her a small nod and a soft, “Yeah,” in response, before Arthur’s eyes strayed to the window once more. He stared out into the darkness that had descended upon the city, then said, “Can I ask…did you ever change your mind? About him, about…wanting to be his queen?”

For all that they both tried to hide it, he was as transparent as Gwenhwyfar was. As moved by seeing reflections of themselves leading different lives, having what they did not.

“A few times,” Gwen eventually said. “But the way I understand it is,” she added, cocking her head, “you are to be promised to another one entirely.”

“That, too,” Arthur said quietly, “is what Gwen wanted. It was her idea.”

“I understand that, too.”

He chuckled a little. “Have you ever done that?”

“No.” Gwen gave a strong shake of her head, earning herself a smile. “But Arthur was set to marry someone else, once.”

“Really?” That piqued his interest. “What did he do?”

Gwen opened her mouth to tell the story, then stopped. She would spare him the details. They didn’t matter anyway. “He followed his heart,” she said simply. “As did I.”

The city’s lights now drew her eye, too, steadily flickering in the pitch-black night. Camelot was her home. And come the day, time would tell if it should be her kingdom, or simply her grave.

Either way, it was where she belonged.

“Well, you’re lucky,” Arthur’s voice reached as if from somewhere far away. “That your hearts led you to the same place. I fear – ” he breathed out a soft sigh – “that I am alone in what I want.”

Gwen remembered the tears in Gwenhwyfar’s eyes as she told them that he would be great king, and change the world, and marry someone else, and thought that it was hardly a question of want.

She meant to say it aloud, but something suddenly shifted in Arthur, and the words died in her throat.

If she hadn’t been watching him so closely, she might have missed it. But his eyes clouded over and a furrow appeared in his brow, and even before he ever said anything at all, Gwen’s stomach sank.

“Something’s gone wrong, hasn’t it?” she asked quietly.

Arthur’s troubled expression betrayed him as he caught her gaze, then looked over his shoulder, to find his double’s eyes. The latter stopped dead, his brow creasing, too.

Then Arthur’s chest heaved, as if he’d been dealt a blow.

Chapter Text

Emrys did as Gwenhwyfar had bid, following the king, his knights and Guenevere further into the unfamiliar, maze-like bowels of the castle. But he looked back, again and again, a bad feeling settling like stones in the pit of his stomach.

He should have stayed.

They stopped for breath and, as the knights used this time to badger their king with questions and Guenevere stood with her hands on her knees and gulped in air, Emrys once more turned back, looking for any sign of movement. The halls were perfectly still.

He reached out to Gwenhwyfar with his mind, and heard nothing back.

When he faced the others, a lump in his throat, he found Arthur watching him. The king’s eyes then strayed to corridor behind Emrys, as if he, too, were searching for something.

“Get Guenevere to safety,” he finally spoke to his knights, “to my chambers. Avoid my father and Morgana at all costs.” Meeting Emrys’s eyes, he added, “We will go back for Gwenhwyfar.”

The knights raised their voices in protest, but Emrys nodded his head urgently, screaming, ‘Yes!’ in his mind. He forgot, for a second there, that this Arthur could not hear it.

“Do as I say!” the latter snapped when the men did not relent. “Now!”

Though they hesitated for just a beat longer, they obeyed, gripping their swords as Guenevere picked up her skirts and ran again. Over her shoulder, she called, “Good luck,” before they all disappeared around the corner.

“Come on,” Arthur said, nudging Emrys’s arm as they doubled back.

Gwenhwyfar spun away at the last second, narrowly avoiding a blow right to her heart. Excalibur’s blade still cut her just below the shoulder as it flew past, then clattered to the floor somewhere in the distance.

She hunched over, holding on to the wound with her good hand, as warm blood trickled down her arm and stained her fingers. It wasn’t the worst wound she’d ever been dealt, not by any measure – but it felt that way.

Then Morgaine’s magic gripped her entire body and sent her to the ground, forcing her to her knees. Gwenhwyfar grunted in pain.

Hand balled into a fist, Morgaine stepped closer, crouching down in front of her.

“A magical object such as this one,” she said, “is, in its own way, a living thing, too. Its mind can be enchanted like that of any man’s.” She cocked her head. “That’s what you plan to do with the Horn of Cathbhadh, isn’t it? It’s the only hope you have of using it.” The corner of her mouth lifted into that smirk again. “Thank you for teaching me that.”

She stood then, and, with a single wave of her hand, threw Gwenhwyfar against the wall. She crumbled against it, gasping.

Morgaine made no move to finish her off. She simply walked away, disappearing at the end of the hallway as if she had melted into the shadows.

The torches lining the walls had been blown out, and Gwenhwyfar, abandoned in the dark, slunk further against the hard stone at her back. Her chest tightened, like iron shackles had been clasped around it.

She held trembling fingers out towards Excalibur, trying to summon it back to her. It didn’t budge.

Tears stung her eyes.

In any other battle, she would scrape her strength together, and grit her teeth, and stand on her feet. She would keep going. She’d never been any other way. But this was different.

The one thing that had ever made her great, made her powerful, was taken from her.

And as she sat helpless, and alone, and defeated, only a single, desperate thought filled her mind.

‘Arthur.’

When they were far enough away, Guenevere asked for another respite, pulling in air noisily through her nose and mouth. Her lungs burned like they were on fire.

And she focused on that, on just breathing, so that she would not think about how frightened she was, how much she wished – so much, with every last fiber of her being – just to have her husband here with her. Why had she told him to let her go?

It was so hard to be brave.

But as soon as their party stopped, Elyan’s double, as if to, unwittingly, offer her the mercy of distraction, whirled on her, demanding, “Uther comes back from the dead to try and kill you, and you don’t tell me?”

“Uh…”

He still thought she was Gwen.

Realization seemed to dawn on him quickly enough, though, his shoulders slumping with it.

“You’re not actually my sister, are you?”

“Not in this world, no.”

Were the circumstances not so dire, she might have even smiled at the expression that crossed his face, one filled with the deepest misery.

“Was that even Arthur?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And was that Arthur at the tournament?” Gwaine jumped in.

Guenevere bit her lip. “In a way.”

“I take it your husband finally came, then?” Elyan deadpanned.

“He did.”

“And I take it,” Gwaine said, “that’s your Merlin back there, too?”

“Oh, no.” Guenevere shook her head. “He’s not from my world.”

With the utmost apprehension, Percival prompted, “How many of you have come here exactly?”

To make sure she missed none, Guenevere began to count them on her somewhat trembling fingers, and the men’s widened ever-further in horror with each new one that came up.

Elyan put up a hand before she could finish. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “We have to get you to the king’s chambers.” To his fellow knights, he added, “Then we will go back for the king.”

They nodded without a moment’s hesitation, and Guenevere did smile this time, just the faintest bit, to see that they, like Emrys, followed their liege’s orders, and never once promised not to forget them later.

A cold wind swept through the corridor without warning, taking the lights and Guenevere’s feeble smile with it.

The knights twisted their heads around, bewildered even as they formed a circle around her, their swords at the ready. Their voices, filled with confusion, echoed against the walls, as their gazes still flittered aimlessly about. They couldn’t see him.

But Guenevere could.

The potion of Gaius’s she, unlike the men, had drunk still kept its effect, opening her eyes to that which did not belong in the world of the living, and so she had no trouble distinguishing Uther’s figure in the dark. He stood directly in her line of sight.

She had never met the man before coming into this world.

All she had ever seen, was the rendition of a likeness upon his tomb, buried deep beneath Camelot’s palace, that Arthur had kept so far from his mind that it had grown shrouded in dust and cobwebs.

The face Guenevere saw now, for the second time in as many days, white, nearly glowing with the sickly pallor of death, was the perfect reflection of the one carved from stone, laying forgotten at home.

“Is it Morgana?” Percival called.

“I can’t see anything,” Elyan said.

“My lady,” Gwaine’s voice was urgent, “is it him? Is it Uther?”

Guenevere couldn’t speak.

Fear washed over her, robbing her of her voice and turning her limbs to ice.

Uther charged them, and the only sound that managed to rip itself from her throat was a broken gasp.

The knights scrambled, brandishing their weapons, but it was of no use – against a ghost, a threat none of them could see, they might as well have been waving sticks through the air.

Guenevere watched, petrified, as Uther lifted Percival off his feet then threw him aside. He did the same with Gwaine. When Elyan, too, crashed against the wall then crumbled to the ground like a ragdoll, Guenevere’s chest seized as if it had been her own brother.

Uther never used his weapons on them. Not until they all lay unconscious on the ground, and then he did lift the sword he held, something like disdain in his eyes as he looked the men over.

“Arthur chooses to knight commoners,” he said, that same disdain in his voice – which, to Guenevere, sounded like death itself. “None of you belong here.”

He raised the sword, aiming it at Elyan’s chest first, and all at once, as the tip of the blade hung in the air above his heart, Guenevere’s body unfroze, and she did not hesitate, did not even think – she just propelled forward, screaming, “No!”

Uther stopped, turning his eerily blackened eyes on her. Blood rushed in her ears.

“Leave them.” It might be the stupidest thing that she had ever done, but Guenevere said, “It’s me you want.”

And Uther, as if to agree, advanced on her instead.

Heavy footsteps echoed against the stone floor, and Gwenhwyfar’s head turned towards the sound, her breathing catching.

The blown-out torches on the walls were lit again, one by one, chasing away the shadows. Gwenhwyfar felt his presence before she ever saw him, and the vice-like grip on her chest finally loosened.

“Arthur,” she breathed out.

He knelt next to her on the ground, where she remained slumped against the wall. He looked so worried.

“What happened?” The question tumbled from his lips in a rush, even as he began inspecting her injury without pause, his fingers coming up to carefully pull at the torn edges of her sleeve.

“Morgaine,” Gwenhwyfar said. “Or – Morgana. Their Morgana. She’s here. She turned Excalibur against me.” Her voice broke like a child’s.

Arthur drew a sharp breath but said nothing. His eyes were cast down, head bent as he assessed the damage to her arm.

“It’s not too bad,” he finally spoke. “I can heal it later.”

Gwenhwyfar’s mouth lifted into a tremulous smile. There was no need for that, and yet she knew he’d never hear of it. She'd stopped arguing a long time ago.

She simply let her eyes rest on him, watched him in silence as he proceeded to tear off a piece of his tunic to make a temporary bandage.

“This should do for now,” he said as he began to tie it. “Why aren’t the others with you? Where is Emrys?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Morgaine surprised us. I told them to go, that I’d hold her off.” She sniffled. “I should’ve learned by now that I can’t face her on my own.”

Arthur sighed softly. “We get bested sometimes,” he said. “It happens.”

He made no further comment – to scold her for having gone alone, or preach to her about danger as he liked to do –, only spared a moment to hold her hand, an unspoken gesture of comfort, before returning to the bandage.

If she didn’t know better, she’d think nothing had ever changed between them.

She fell, and he came for her. She got hurt, and he healed her. She lost, and he made it better. They had never been any other way.

Something tightened in Gwenhwyfar’s chest once more. She had already lost Excalibur tonight, and it broke her in a way she couldn’t have imagined. But to lose Arthur – that would break her, too. That might kill her.

So, why couldn’t she just tell him the truth? Why couldn’t she just be brave?

Tears filled her eyes again. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” Arthur shook his head. “You’ve no reason to be.”

He didn’t get it.

“No, Arthur, I – I was afraid – ”

He suddenly stopped, lifting his eyes to hers.

“You have nothing to fear.” His voice was so gentle. “I’m here.”

It’s not about Morgaine, she wanted to say, but Arthur touched a hand to her cheek, and words promptly faded from Gwenhwyfar’s mind, her eyes slowly drifting shut as she leaned into it.

Without thinking, she raised her own hand and curled it around his wrist, where his heartbeat drummed steadily under her fingers, along with the ever-familiar pulse of the magic running though his veins.

She could never hope to explain it to anyone, how that touch of magic calmed her, soothed her. Only when it came from him.

His thumb stroked her cheek and Gwenhwyfar’s eyes fluttered open, to find his. She knew that look.

Replace the castle walls with open skies, and they were right back in their camp, on the night he first kissed her – with old, worn tarp and they were in her tent, on the night he took her mark and placed it just over his heart.  Like nothing had changed.

But then his expression grew shuttered, his hand falling away, and Gwenhwyfar remembered that it had.

Arthur finished tying off the bandage with magic and a flick of his fingers. “There,” he said tightly, clearing his throat.

Gwenhwyfar hesitantly reached for his hand but he pulled away, shaking his head once, and moved to stand.

She felt like crying. “Arthur – ”

“Gwenhwyfar!”

Emrys ran towards them from the other end of the hallway. He stopped and hastily looked her over, then upon seeing that she remained mostly in once piece, breathed a sigh of relief. He was alone.

Arthur, once again on his feet, was the first to speak. “The others?”

“We were separated,” Emrys answered after a beat, his eyes slowly going from Arthur to Gwenhwyfar and back. “The knights took Guenevere back to the royal chambers. The king and I went back, but – ” he sighed – “we were separated, too.”

“Morgana?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah.”

Arthur nodded. “I will find him,” he said. “You two go back to the royal chambers. We will all reconvene there.”

No sooner had he said it that he was already striding past Emrys, who, looking somewhat confused, clasped Gwenhwyfar’s arm to help her to her feet, a question in his eyes. She didn’t answer.

She expected Arthur to keep walking but he stopped a little ways away from them, crouching down. Gwenhwyfar realized he was picking up Excalibur.

Arthur’s hand hovered over the pommel for a moment, then closed around it. He stood, cutting the air a few times to test the blade, then circled back to return it to her.

“It’s fine now,” he promised.

She might not have believed it, had it come from anyone else. But when Arthur presented the blade to her, neatly laid out across his palms, Gwenhwyfar hardly hesitated to take hold of it. The moment she did, warmth spread from the tips of her fingers and up her arm, until it had settled into every part of her body. Just like it had when Kilgharrah had first made it for her.

Excalibur was hers again.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Arthur acknowledged the thanks with a short nod, barely looking at her.

“Wait,” Emrys spoke up, a furrow in his brow, “why are you alone?”

“My double has gone to find his wife,” Arthur said. “Merlin went with him. But I had to find...Gwenhwyfar, so…” He swallowed, then, after a beat, simply shrugged. “We split up.”

“You shouldn’t go alone now,” Gwenhwyfar said quietly. He had to be safe. That was all that mattered. “I – ”

“You are injured,” Arthur interrupted.

“Emrys – ”

“Will go with you,” Arthur stood firm. He spoke to her in a voice that was detached, almost cold, like they were merely two unacquainted soldiers on a battlefield, and this was all just a matter of practicality and strategy.

Gwenhwyfar gulped. “Alright.”

Arthur said nothing further, though Gwenhwyfar was sure he did leave one last word for Emrys, by the way the latter’s head bobbed in the slightest nod, as if he were barely aware of doing it.

As Arthur finally turned to leave, Gwenhwyfar – somehow feeling even worse than when Morgaine had robbed her of Excalibur – couldn’t help but call, if only to his mind, ‘Be careful.’

He didn’t reply.

“All will be well.”

Arthur, whose every last thought had been consumed with finding Guenevere since his double had sensed Gwenhwyfar’s distress, blinked, head snapping in Merlin’s direction.

Merlin, walking beside him, gave him a small smile of encouragement. “We will find your wife,” he said. “Everything will be alright. I promise.”

Arthur smiled, too.

Rewind time a year or two, put slightly more meat and fancier clothes on the man, and it might as well be his own Merlin Arthur saw, as they crisscrossed Albion, looking for the Dark Tower, swearing he would not lose Guenevere.

“You know exactly what to say, Merlin.”

Merlin shrugged it off. “Once I’ve met one of you, I’ve met you all. When it comes to Gwen, anyway.”

Arthur would be the last one to deny it.

Though all three had set off together, while Guinevere stayed in the royal chambers under Dragoon’s protection, Arthur’s double had left them behind a few corners back, splitting off in an entirely different direction.

“You go on,” he’d said. “I have to find Gwen.”

“Is – ” Arthur had started, but his double had shaken his head.

“She’s alone,” he’d said. “I can feel it.”

“If something happened,” Merlin was saying now, “Arthur would want to get Guenevere to safety, back to his chambers. So, they should be right about – ”

As if to finish that thought, the perfect silence of the antechamber they had entered was disturbed by sounds of running footsteps. Though Merlin stopped, holding his hand ready in defense, Arthur took off towards the sound.

“Arthur, wait – ” Merlin called, but Arthur rushed forward. He’d know the pit patter of those shoes anywhere.

She appeared at the other end of the hallway, disheveled and panting, but perfectly real, perfectly whole, and the immeasurable pressure on Arthur’s chest finally eased.

Guenevere let out a strangled cry when she saw him, practically throwing herself in his arms. Arthur caught her, nearly crushing her in relief, and even as he told himself that he should loosen his grip, that he’d hurt her, his free arm tightened around her waist. He buried his face in her hair.

“You’re here,” Guenevere was muttering in his ear, her words broken as she still struggled to breathe. “You’re here.”

“It’s alright,” he soothed, placing a soft kiss to her shoulder then her cheek. “It’s alright. You’re safe now.”

“No.” She drew back, shaking her head. “Uther – Uther is here, he – ”

She needn’t get any further than that for Arthur to know. Cold air rushed in, as if it had followed her, now raising the hairs at the back of his neck.

He stepped around Guenevere, holding onto Excalibur with both hands.

When Uther came, Arthur charged him with a roar, their swords meeting in a sickening grind of steel against steel.

Unfortunately, Uther had learned too many tricks in the time he’d been allowed to stay here.

Solid ground fell from under his feet and Arthur came crashing through the door on his right. It gave way under the impact and he cried out when he hit the floor, pain searing through his body. Guenevere screamed.

Get her out of here, Arthur tried to yell at Merlin, just get her out of here.

But Merlin stepped forward, his voice like thunder as his eyes flashed, and the sword flew from Uther’s hand.

The latter whirled around, staring. “You have magic.”

Through gritted teeth, Merlin said, “I was born with it.”

Uther let out an ungodly sound, bursting with rage, and things began hurling at Merlin. A chair, a bench, heavy iron sconces ripped from the walls.

Both hands held out in the air, Uther summoned the long table in the room next – and, somewhere in the back of his mind, Arthur realized these must be the council chambers –, hurling that at Merlin, too.

Merlin blasted it apart with his magic, making the ground itself shake with the force of it. The pieces and splinters came down like a hailstorm, and Merlin turned away, shielding himself with his arm. Guenevere shrieked.

Uther saw his chance and tossed Merlin clear across the room. The latter crumbled in a heap.

Then, Uther turned on Guenevere again.

Arthur scrambled to his feet, his nails catching on the stone floor as he grappled for his sword and hurried forward.

He came between Uther and Guenevere again. He didn’t care if his double wanted his father banished instead of destroyed. Arthur brandished Excalibur at him all the same, again and again.

Uther made his sword return to him and fought back. He got him in the arm and his side – a rib cracked – but Arthur didn’t stop, hacking away carelessly, almost blindly.

“Please,” Guenevere was crying, “stop, leave him alone – Arthur – ”

“Run,” Arthur gritted out at her, as sharp pain radiated from his broken ribs. She didn’t move.

Uther used the weakness against him, to land a hard blow against his knee. It gave out and Arthur fell to the ground with a grunt of pain, Excalibur flying out of his hand and out of reach when Uther jabbed the pommel of his sword into his shoulder.

He raised the sword towards Guenevere next. She still hadn’t moved.

“No,” Arthur ground out and, with his whole body screaming in protest, desperately stumbled upright again. Bare-handed, he threw himself in front of Guenevere, pushing her behind him as best he could, just as the sword came down.

The tip of it grazed his breastplate.

And then Uther suddenly stopped, the blade falling away.

He cocked his head, eyes flittering from Arthur to Guenevere and back, before they widened with something like dawning realization.

“You’re not her,” he said, then, from one blink to the next, vanished out of sight.  

Arthur sagged with relief.

Guenevere was standing in front of him in a heartbeat, her eyes wet with tears as they frantically went over his injuries.

He shifted his weight to his good leg, letting out a ragged breath. “I thought I told you,” he panted, “to run.”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t leave you.”

Even as the movement pulled painfully at his bruised shoulder, Arthur lifted a hand to her cheek. “Are you alright?”

Her face crumpled, the tears spilling over. “I’m fine,” her voice broke as she said it, shaking her head like it was ridiculous that he should be asking her that.

Maybe to her it was.

“Then good,” Arthur said, gently brushing away the loose strands of her hair that had stuck to her cheeks and forehead. “That’s all that matters.”

She sniffled, hastily wiping her tears away before she began, very carefully, feeling around his injuries with her hands.

“It’s going to be alright,” she said. “Merlin can take care of these. You’ll be alright.”

“I know,” Arthur said softly.

Guenevere nodded her head quickly, then took his hand and folded it between both of hers, brushing her lips against it.

Arthur rested his forehead against the top of her head, closing his eyes.

A groan came from the far end of the room, as Merlin picked himself off the ground, rising on unsteady feet. He held on to this head, blinking owlishly as he looked around. “What happened?”

With a soft sigh, Arthur pulled away from Guenevere. “Uther saw through our subterfuge,” he said. “He’s gone after Gwen.”

That seemed to sober Merlin up.

More distant sounds could be heard now, of many pairs of clomping feet and indiscernible voices mixing together.

“I am guessing the knights of Camelot were finally roused,” Guenevere observed.

Even as it posed an undeniable problem, Arthur wondered what had taken them so long.

He made to ask Merlin what the best way to distract them would be, but Merlin’s thoughts were, evidently elsewhere.

He was watching Guenevere with a frown. “You were alone,” he said, as it had just occurred to him. “When we found you, you were alone.”

She nodded.

Merlin’s expression grew troubled, worry etched on his brow.

“My lady,” he asked, “where is Arthur?”

Chapter Text

“Come on,” Arthur said as they doubled back for Gwenhwyfar, nudging her Merlin’s arm.

 “Thank you.” Merlin jogged beside him down the hallway, relief written all over his face.

“Gwenhwyfar has done me a great service,” Arthur said. “I owe her at least this.”

Short as their acquaintance may be, he felt as strong a kinship with her as he would with any of his men. He could no more keep from worrying about her wellbeing than he could about Leon’s, left unconscious after Morgana’s first attack – or about that of the other knights, risking their lives in following his orders to get Guenevere to safety.

With Gwenhwyfar, he now shared another bond, that of Excalibur, which, by some machinations deeper than Arthur’s understanding, urged him to act.

“But I’m sure she’ll be alright,” he added, for her Merlin’s benefit. “Her skill exceeds any I’ve ever seen.”

“I know,” Merlin said. “I just – I have a bad feeling.”

Despite the pressing circumstances, Arthur’s mouth twitched. “You get those, too, then?”

“What?”

“Funny feelings,” Arthur said. “Like something’s wrong, will go wrong. My Merlin’s always got one about something.”

And as loath as Arthur was to admit it, more often than not, Merlin was usually not wrong.

“Well, maybe there’s a reason for that.”

“Like what?”

All the answer he received was a vague, “I don’t know.”

The Merlins, Arthur decided, were all strange creatures.

This one, perhaps, most of all. Arthur’s shock at this existence had yet to truly wane. It had stayed with him from the moment he had seen the man step into the throne room, built like a warrior where his Merlin was one strong gust of wind away from being blown off the face of the Earth – wielding swords like it was second nature, where his Merlin had only ever helplessly dropped far more of them than he had ever picked up.

And a druid. The realization came over Arthur all over again. There was no mistaking it. Even if he had not been told, Arthur would have guessed it by the markings on his skin.

Yet, with his own Merlin in mind, this was somehow the least surprising part of Gwenhwyfar’s.

The latter stopped abruptly. At a turn, his head craned to the side, eyes narrowing towards the small corridor that bridged the one Arthur and Merlin occupied and a second, larger one. It appeared deserted, like the rest of the palace, but Merlin still shifted his stance, on edge.

Arthur gripped Excalibur tighter. “Funny feeling again?”

“Yeah,” Merlin said. He reached back, as if for one of the swords crossed at his back, then, with a slight shake of his head, seemed to change his mind and brought his hand forward instead.

Something about that gesture, about the way Merlin spread his fingers, palm out like it would be his defense instead, prickled at the back of Arthur’s mind, as if it were familiar. He just couldn’t remember why.

Silently, Merlin stepped into the small corridor, moving forward at a slow, careful pace.

Though it made no sense – not with this man, this Merlin – Arthur put a hand over his chest and pushed him back, going first.

The corridor was narrow, short and windowless, the sort of place Arthur despised in times of battle for its lack of strategic advantage. There was no way to tell who or what might come from around either corner of the larger hallway it gave onto.

Arthur pulled in steady breaths through his nose as they advanced still, their feet making nary a sound. The hairs at the back of Arthur’s neck stood on end.

Then the ground began to shake.

Arthur looked up to see the ceiling crack. It started to cave, and he pushed Merlin back again, with force this time, then lunged in the opposite direction. The ceiling gave out entirely, and Arthur threw his arms over his head to shield himself from the falling debris.

Coughing through the cloud of dust as it settled, Arthur scrambled to his knees and twisted around. A wall of stone separated him from Merlin.

“Are you alright?” he called.

“Yeah,” Merlin shouted back, and Arthur let out a quiet sigh of relief.

He turned back around, letting himself fall back against the stones – and froze.

“You?” Merlin asked. “Arthur?”

Arthur swallowed. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

“Hang on, I’m going to get you out – ”

“No, uh…you go on, Merlin.”

There was a pause.

“Arthur…”

“Find Gwenhwyfar. I’ll be fine.”

Merlin fell silent again, then began muttering words Arthur couldn’t make out, that didn’t even sound real through the ringing in his ears, before he let out a frustrated groan. “I can’t move these!”

Arthur felt like laughing. Of course he couldn’t. They were stones the size of his head, piled as high as the walls. He was as ridiculous as his Merlin was, sometimes.

“Just go, Merlin.”

“I know what’s wrong,” Merlin’s voice was fraught. “I can feel it. I can’t just leave you here with – ”

“Go,” Arthur repeated, then, because Merlin did not move, said it again, louder, “Go!”

He hesitated for a moment still, and Arthur almost believed he’d be stubborn, refuse to save himself, just run and throw himself at the wall the way his Merlin might – but he did, at last, move, pebbles crunching under his feet as he said, “We’ll come back for you.”

His footsteps faded, and Arthur was relieved.

It was only then that Morgana finally spoke.

“My dear brother,” she said, smiling a cold, unnerving smile. “It is you and me at last.”

Arthur took a deep, steeling breath, then slowly stood.

He’d never admit it to anyone, not even Guinevere, but he’d wondered, so many times, what it would be like to see his sister again. Every time sleep eluded him, every time his knights or scouts reported sighting her – every time, he wondered what he would see, after all this time. How the image he still held of her would change.

No report, no knight’s story, not even the glimpse of her he’d had when she’d first attacked, could have prepared him for the reality of it. That image of her he’d senselessly kept – of the Morgana he once knew, beautiful and bright – shattered like glass.

And as he looked on her now, despite everything she had done, Arthur felt no fear, nor hatred, nor even anger – just a deep, unspeakable sadness.

Quietly, he asked, “What happened to you, Morgana?”

The defiant, arrogant look in her eyes faltered, like a mask washing away. In the end, she only said, “You.”

“No.” Arthur shook his head. “I didn’t do this to you.”

“You did.” For a moment, Morgana looked sad, too. “All you see, Arthur,” she said, “is all you have made.”

Tears stung Arthur’s eyes, his chest tightening.

“You’ve made it perfectly clear how you feel about me and my kind, time and again,” Morgana went on. “Just like Uther.” She sniffed. “You can preach what you like. You’re no different from him.”

Arthur thought of Gwenhwyfar, of the cold look on her face as she asked if it were not his law, his will, to end those who loved the practices that she did.

And as he did then – an immediate, desperate impulse – Arthur said, “I am not our father.”

“You are. I didn’t believe it, once. But you,” Morgana said, “are your father’s son. You always were.” She raised her chin. “And I hate you, just as much as I hate him.”

Feeling as though an iron band were closing around his heart, Arthur expelled a ragged breath. “If you hate him so much,” he let out, “then why did you bring him here? Why choose him to do your bidding?”

Morgana’s face twisted. “He owes me,” she gritted out. “After everything he has done, he owes me at least this.”

He pitied her, Arthur realized. As much as it saddened him, as much as he mourned for the girl he once knew, more than anything, he pitied what she’d become.

“If I am no different from him,” he said, “then nor are you.”

Morgana’s nostrils flared now. “I am going to enjoy killing you, Arthur Pendragon,” she said, taking a step back, something like madness in her eyes. Arthur gripped his sword with both hands.

Morgana raised her hand in front of her, palm out and fingers spread – and somewhere in the back of his mind, Arthur finally realized where he knew that from.

Morgana’s face changed again, its lines morphing into something twisted. “But not yet.”

Her hand closed into a fist and her eyes glowed like they were on fire, and the horn that was strapped to Arthur’s belt flew away from his side.

“No – ” Arthur sprang forward, but it was too late.

It must have been the work of barely moments, but to Arthur, time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched tiny fissures appear on the surface of the horn. Morgana’s eyes still glowed, strange words rolling off her tongue. The fissures deepened, spreading over the horn like a spider’s web.

It levitated in the air in front of Arthur’s eyes for a beat longer, every inch of it cracked, then shattered into a thousand pieces.

The one hope he’d had of sending his father’s ghost back to the spirit world was reduced to little more than dust, and Arthur stared at the broken pieces on the ground, horrified.

“What have you done?”

“What I said I would.” Morgana smirked. “I will kill you, Arthur,” she swore, “but first…I want you to suffer. Just as I have.”

Her fist closed and pulled on air again, and now it was Arthur’s sword that flew right out of his hands.

He went after it, too, but Morgana threw him back with her magic. He crashed against the pile of stones behind him, gasping at the pain as he slumped against it.

His vision blurred from having hit his head but he still saw Morgana, as she called Excalibur into the palm of her own hand, measuring it up as if it were a spoil of war.

Though Arthur had had it for no longer than a day, to see it in her hand felt like he had been robbed of a part of himself. As well as he felt that the blade was no longer his, somehow.

Sprawled upon the ground, Arthur tried to right himself, grunting with the effort. “Morgana…”

“Hush now, dear brother.” Her voice was almost soothing. “Don’t hurt yourself. There’s no point.”

“I thought – ” Arthur grunted again – “you wanted me to suffer.”

Morgana laughed. “Your suffering has only just begun.”

He had no doubt, if she was the one who would dispense it. Her attention had shifted to Excalibur, and she toyed with it, running her fingers along the runes with care, such as she no longer showed to any of her old friends, a fleeting softness in her eyes.

Then, almost conversationally, she said, “I killed him, you know. Uther.”

Arthur’s heart stopped.

“I know you blamed Emrys,” Morgana went on, never once looking up. “But it was me. I created a charm that would reverse any healing magic he might attempt. Because I knew you’d ask him to. Agravaine told me. And do you know what else?”

She finally raised her eyes to Arthur’s, and there was no trace of remorse, of sorrow, or guilt in them. “I killed him, too.”

Arthur swallowed. He would like nothing more than to say that he did not mourn the death of a traitor –  that in betraying him, his uncle had forfeited any love Arthur had once held for him – but his chest still seized, tears coming to his eyes. Arthur furiously blinked them away.

He would not give Morgana the satisfaction.

“He came to you?”

“He did,” she said. “As soon as he fled Camelot, he came to find me. Said he had been discovered, but that he would continue to serve me. Only, he could no longer be my spy.”

Arthur’s heart was hollow. “And you just…killed him anyway? Even if he was loyal to you?”

Coldly, Morgana said, “He was of no use to me anymore.”

Time had made her so unkind, and cruel, and Arthur still didn’t understand why. Was it really him who had made her this way? What was it he had done?

Expelling a quiet breath, Arthur asked, “Why are you telling me this?”

There had to be a reason. Surely enough, a crooked smile returned to Morgana’s lips. In the blink of an eye, the tip of Excalibur was at Arthur’s throat, hovering in the air. He drew further back against the stones.

“I want you to know the truth,” Morgana said. “I want you to know, that every loss you have suffered had my hand in it. Your father, your allies, your precious new sword.” The blade bobbed slightly, scratching the skin right under Arthur’s chin. “I am the one who took all of it from you. As I will take your beloved Guinevere.”

Despite the sword at his throat, Arthur strained again. Morgana’s eyes flashed and his limbs were suddenly weighed with lead, as if invisible shackles held him to the ground. He could not move.

Morgana’s smile widened. “Then I will take your kingdom,” she finally said. “And only then, when you are alone, and broken, will I do you the mercy of taking your life.”

Excalibur drew back. Morgana gave it one last, curious look before tossing it aside. It landed somewhere to her right, out of Arthur’s sight.

“Now,” Morgana said, “let’s find her, shall we?”

Panic rose in Arthur’s throat, choking him. He tried, using every last bit of his strength, to move, to stop Morgana – but he stayed bound to the floor, unable to lift so much as a finger.

Morgana lingered a while longer, as if enjoying to watch him to struggle, then slowly turned to leave.

Arthur called after her, desperate. “Morgana, please.”

She stopped.

Breathing raggedly, Arthur said, “Leave her alone. Guinevere’s done you no wrong. You can do whatever you want with me, just – just don’t harm her. I’m – ” he gritted his teeth – “I’m begging you. Morgana, just…just let her go.”

He didn’t care anymore if he gave her the satisfaction of seeing him break. He couldn’t lose Guinevere. He’d do anything.

Morgana stared at him, unmoving, for a time. A knowing smirk touched her lips, as if she had seen this coming – him, restrained and helpless, begging for Guinevere’s life –, as if she recognized it.

Then, she simply shook her head once.

“Morgana!” Arthur yelled after her, fighting again against his invisible bonds, but she was already gone.

Morgana kept a brisk pace as she strode through the halls, her path set. If she knew Arthur at all, then, after the ambush she had prepared, he would have wanted to get Guinevere somewhere he believed was safe. Like his chambers.

And she did know her brother well. She need not have been a seer to see, in her mind’s eye, him begging for Gwen’s life even before he had ever given her satisfaction of hearing the words, the same ones she had once heard him say to Uther.

She had indeed not given much thought as to what it would be like to see him again. But then, his double had shown up in her hovel, and he had been kind, and understanding, and so maybe, some deep, small part of Morgana had thought, had hoped, that –

She halted that train of thought. She had hoped for nothing. She knew her brother. She knew what he thought of her. And it was obvious, in the way he had looked at her. Like he pitied her, like she talked nonsense and he just did not understand what he had done. Oblivious to his own transgressions, as he was to everything else.

“Stop.” A voice came from behind her.

Morgana did, slowly turning around.

There were three of them, she knew that. But this one – this was the one she had wanted to see. From the moment Uther had told her about him.

He came from the far end of the long hallway, dressed all in black just as she was. The hem of his tunic was ripped, a strip of it missing. The light of the flickering torches cast shadows on his face as he approached, his arms lowered at his sides, as if he had no intention of striking her.

He stopped, too, standing just close enough that she might truly see his face.

And as with the others like him, Morgana greeted him just the same. “My dear brother.”

Arthur’s second double shook his head. “Not in this world.”

“Is it so in yours?” she asked.

“Hasn’t been in a long time.”

Morgana nodded. She might have expected that. Even as pressed for time as she was, even as she raised her hand, she was loath to strike him. Out of curiosity – or, perhaps, just wishing to see him do what she knew he could – instead of dealing him a blow, Morgana ripped one of the torches from the wall and sent it hurtling at him.

His own hand struck out, eyes alight with magic. Such power came from him that Morgana felt it brush against her own skin. The torch was blown to bits, its ashes slowly falling in a heap at his feet.

To see someone, who so strongly bore Arthur’s likeness, perform the very thing he condemned in her and hers, did not, as Morgana may have thought, make her angry. Instead, she only felt overwhelming, gut-wrenching sadness. Just like she had at seeing Arthur’s first double’s child in her dreams, rocking it gently in her arms.

Because this was not her life either. Because it was not she who had this brother.

“Look at that,” she said, her voice nearly breaking. “We’re of a kind.”

He gave her a small, mirthless smile. “Would that you had felt so in my world.”

Twice in as many days, and if only for a moment, Morgana’s heart split in half. “Would that you had felt so in mine.”

Maybe he was moved the same way, for something flickered in his eyes, as if he – made from entirely different matter, from an entirely different world – regretted the same thing she did. Then it was gone.

Morgana hardened her own expression. “Let me pass,” she said, “and I will spare your life. You and I have no quarrel.”

He did not budge. “No, you’re wrong. We do. You started it,” he said, “the moment you chose to attack Gwenhwyfar.”

They were three for three, then. All with the same, exact weak spot. Morgana could have laughed.

“As you wish,” she said, and this time, did raise her hand to strike.

Merlin had left Guenevere and her husband in the council chambers; the last he had seen of them, Guenevere was putting her arm around Arthur’s middle to help him walk. Merlin had taken off in a, mostly aimless, run to find his own Arthur.

He rounded the corner at the end of a long hallway just in time to see Morgana’s hand come up in the air.

Gwenhwyfar’s Arthur stood facing her, his back to Merlin, hand outstretched just the same. The air began to stir with magic. Merlin, from where he remained hidden in shadow, struck out with both his hands at the same time as Arthur.

The blast was formidable. The ground itself shook from it as Morgana was thrown back, parts of the ceiling falling down with her.

Arthur spun around in the spot, the golden glow in his eyes still subsiding.

A sudden lump formed in Merlin’s throat. Not just at seeing magic in Arthur – he already had, in the throne room when he’d first come, though recurrence did not lessen its impact. But to do magic with Arthur –

It wasn’t the real him, Merlin knew that. But it made something indescribable unfurl in his chest just the same.

He swallowed, rushing to Arthur’s side. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” Arthur broke into an unexpected smile. “Thanks.”

Merlin nodded, then turned his gaze ahead, to the pile of rubble that now stood where Morgana had. By some silent agreement, he and Arthur headed towards it as one, approaching cautiously.

They needn’t have. There was no trace of her. Even after they proceeded to reduce the stones to dust – and again, Merlin’s heart did a funny thing as they joined their magic – the floor beneath was empty.

Arthur sighed. “So much for that.”

Merlin, meanwhile, cast furtive glances around, as if the walls would somehow whisper to him where his Arthur was. Then, he did hear a voice, and for a moment, thought that they had.

“Do you hear that?” he asked.

Arthur cocked his head as he listened. There was, if one lent their ear to it, a wave of new sounds rising in the palace. Words distorted by distance and boots hitting the ground. Knights.

But closer than that, another, clearer voice, calling for help. Arthur.

Merlin ran towards it, Arthur’s double at his side. Two corners down, they came upon the true Arthur, sprawled upon the ground, half-propped against another pile of caved-in ceiling. He let out a sigh of relief at seeing them.

“What happened?” Merlin knelt next to him, frowning at his immobile limbs.

“Morgana,” Arthur gritted out. “She – she pinned me down somehow. I can’t move.”

A few seconds and spell muttered by his double later, and that wasn’t true anymore. If Merlin had expected to see some reaction in Arthur – wariness, revolt, disgust – at having magic so plainly used in front of him, on him, it didn’t come.

Instead, Arthur immediately scrambled to his feet, jaw clenching around a low groan of pain. Merlin stood with him, opening his mouth to ask more questions, but Arthur turned to him, looking – defeated.

“She destroyed it,” his voice was hollow. “The horn. It’s gone.”

Indeed, all that was left of it were the broken pieces that the prince had crouched down to turn over in his fingers.

Merlin swallowed. Only one way to be rid of Uther remained now. Arthur would never bear to do it.

As he pondered that unwelcome thought with ever-growing dread, something glinting in the darkness drew Merlin’s eye. He went towards it, as Arthur received an account of what they had last seen of Morgana from his double – omitting, of course, Merlin’s own part in it.

It was Excalibur. Merlin frowned, bending to pick it up, then turned back around. “Why’s this here?”

“Morgana took it from me,” Arthur said. “It was like…it wasn’t mine anymore.”

“She did the same with Gwenhwyfar’s,” his double added.

Merlin tested the blade, cutting the air with it a few times, comfortable with its weight in his hand from all the times he’d handled it before, then presented it back to Arthur with a shrug. “It seems fine now.”

Arthur stared at him, then grabbed for the sword with a sour look. “Well, if you say it’s fine, Merlin – ” He stopped, frowning as he turned Excalibur over in his own hand. “It does feel fine.”

“Morgana’s magic’s worn off,” his double explained. “However powerful she is, your bond with Excalibur is more so. If such a blade was forged for you, no sorcery, no matter how great, can fool it for long. It will always return to you.”

Arthur didn’t seem to quite grasp the concept of magical ownership of immortal weapons, but accepted it nonetheless. He sheathed the sword in the scabbard at his belt, then narrowed his eyes as the indiscernible mixture of sounds around them grew louder.

“The knights,” Merlin said. “They must have heard. I don’t think they can be fooled anymore.”

Arthur’s mouth thinned, but his next order was still just a curt, “Later.”

No sooner had he said it that he had already spun around to leave, his shoulders stiff. Merlin went after him. “Later? Arthur, we have to distract them from – ”

“Morgana’s going after Guinevere.” Arthur whirled on him, and for the first time since they’d found him, Merlin saw fear in his eyes. “The knights will wait. Now let’s go,” he said, and took off in a run.

It was unbearable to wait.

Gwen still sat in the same spot at the table of the royal chambers, her fingers twisting around each other in her lap. Every sound the palace made, no matter how small, had her on edge and her head snapping towards the doors.

Only Dragoon remained with her now, in the seat opposite hers, after Gwenhwyfar’s Arthur had sensed her distress. For all that he had insisted on sticking to the plan, he had been the first one out the door. Guenevere’s husband could hardly be dissuaded from following, and Dragoon had made no attempts towards it. No more than Gwen had made any to talk Merlin out of taking off after them. She was even glad for it, really. He would protect Arthur.

The castle made another sound, a faint and distant rumble, and Gwen’s head inevitably snapped towards the door once more. It, however, stood undisturbed, just as it had thus far.

“To worry serves no purpose.”

Gwen’s head swiveled around to Dragoon. “I know,” she said, blinking.

“I thought you might,” he said. “You are wise, after all.”

Though Dragoon’s expression was grave, his eyes – those same eyes that Gwen swore she knew already, on someone else – as he watched her, were kind.

Then, they clouded over, as if they could see something she did not. The knot at the pit of Gwen’s stomach tightened. And the castle made another, different sound, far more worrisome than the last.

As the footsteps echoed along the hall just outside the chambers, Dragoon rose at once, with far greater agility than Gwen could have imagined, and hastily motioned for her to follow him. They made for the side door at the far end of the adjacent sleeping quarters.

They had not taken more than a couple of hurried steps before the main doors burst open with great force.

Morgana stood at the threshold, and Gwen’s first thought, as terror rooted her in the spot , was that she was a nightmare come to life.

Her black cloak was dirty and ripped in places. Dirt covered her face, too, and her hair, once like a curtain of dark silk, was knotted and matted, streaked here and there with something green that made it seem as though weeds had grown on it. She looked like a wildling.

Gwen’s breath caught in her chest. For a split-second, she stared right into Morgana’s eyes. They showed only deep, unfathomable hatred. The moment passed, and Morgana’s brow creased, her lip curling.

She didn’t recognize her, Gwen realized, with the jewels woven in her hair. She thought she was Guenevere.

Then Dragoon stepped out from behind Gwen, and Morgana’s expression changed entirely, fear flashing across her face.

“You,” she snarled.

“I knew I should have killed you when I had the chance,” Dragoon spat in kind.

He struck out with his hand, and Morgana did the same, and the air around them stirred dangerously, and as Gwen’s heart leapt into her throat, Dragoon yelled, “Run!”

Gwen picked up her skirts and did as she was told, bolting for the side door. She hadn’t even reached it before the first, thundering crash came.

Everyone stumbled back to the royal chambers at roughly the same time.

Arthur came with his double and Merlin. The knights, who had managed to catch up with them, followed closely behind. Leon, Arthur was glad to learn, was none worse for wear though hopelessly confused. Gwaine, Percival and Elyan were a little battered but, like Leon, mostly bewildered by what they had witnessed. They had come upon a number of unconscious guards on their way, lying listlessly on the floor. Arthur hadn’t stopped to check if they were still alive.

The seven of them came from one end of the hallway just as Gwenhwyfar and her Merlin rounded the opposite corner in a run. Behind them, at a slower pace, came Guenevere and her husband. He’d been badly hurt, by the looks of him. Guenevere helped to support his weight as he limped beside her, her arm around his middle. His own arm rested heavily around her shoulders, clinging for purchase.

Arthur spared them all only a cursory glance as he rushed through the chambers’ doors. They had been blasted off their hinges. He skidded to a halt inside, his stomach dropping.

Every piece of furniture was upturned, broken or askew, specs of dust still swirling the air around them. The protective powder once spread around the room to ward off Uther swirled with it, slowly coating everything with crushed lavender and salt.

The deer’s head mounted by the fireplace lay on the ground, its antlers shattered. The shields and swords displayed on the walls were scattered in heaps of twisted metal in odd corners. The twin pillars supporting the archway into the sleeping quarters had huge chunks of stone missing from them.

Rationally, Arthur recognized that this was no great surprise – that he had heard all the noises coming from this destruction as he’d run, ever-faster, to reach the chambers, his heart pounding in his ears and his mind relentlessly turning over a single, frantic thought. Not Guinevere.

Something in the rubble gave a faint groan.

Gwenhwyfar was the first to attend to it, Guenevere and her husband following laboriously. Gwenhwyfar knelt next to the pile that was once Arthur’s table and perhaps some of his chairs, removing a few pieces of wood from the top. Dragoon’s head sprang from it.

“What happened?” Guenevere asked, clearly distraught.

“Mor – Morgana.” Dragoon coughed. Gwenhwyfar silently continued to free him from the debris. “She came here, we – we fought.”

Such a small word, Arthur thought – as he kept looking around, kept searching – did not suffice to cover it. Beyond the chambers, the noise in the palace was swelling, too. The whole castle had woken.

“Where is she now?” Guenevere’s questioning gained in urgency. She glanced around hastily, as if Morgana might pop up from behind a broken bedpost at any moment.

“Gone,” Dragoon’s voice rattled, as if some of the dust he was wiping off his robes were stuck in his throat, too. “She fled, in the end. Transported out of here.” Then, speaking to someone over Arthur’s shoulder, he added, “She fears me.”

This garnered some responses, but Arthur did not hear them. His eyes went over every corner, still searching – and still, found nothing, and the panic that he had felt before, as he lay helpless at Morgana’s feet, began sinking its claws into him again.

He stepped up to where Dragoon still sat on the ground, breaking off whatever the old man was saying, and demanded, “Where is Guinevere?”

Silence fell at once.

“I don’t know,” Dragoon eventually said, looking grieved. “I told her to run, she did, I – I don’t know where she went.”

The claws sunk deeper. Without a word, without a second thought, Arthur gripped Excalibur tighter and ran right back out the doors, ignoring Merlin’s calls to come back.

Gwen ran, feet catching on the ends of her skirts. Her heart pounded in her ears like war drums, nearly drowning out everything else.

Faint echoes still reached her, from somewhere far in the castle. A crash. Yelling. Screaming. She didn’t have the time to look back.

She stumbled into the throne room, empty at the dead of night. She stopped in the middle of it, her ragged breaths loud and heavy in the silence.

A chill swept through, making cold slither down her spine. Gwen spun around, her stomach sinking.

Uther had found her.

Chapter Text

For all the noise that reigned elsewhere in the castle, the throne room was quiet. The only thing that Gwen did hear was the sound of her own pounding heart. The moonlight streaming through the windows bathed the space in a soft, eerie glow that did little to chase away the darkness.

Uther seemed to absorb what scarce light there was, his shrunken, unnatural face nearly white against the shadows of the looming double doors behind him. The blade he held in one hand glinted faintly.

“There is nowhere left for you to run,” he spoke.

Goosebumps broke along Gwen’s skin. The cold Uther brought with him wherever he went had her suppressing a shiver.

He yet seemed in no hurry to finish her off. He simply stood there, languidly holding his sword aloft, as if giving her the time to understand her fate.

She did so perfectly.

The twin thrones Arthur had set stood behind her. Gwen resisted the urge to turn over her shoulder and look, just one more time. Because she did understand. What she wanted wasn’t was meant to be. She was never going to be Arthur’s queen.

They had been so close.

Tears prickled Gwen’s eyes but she forced them back; forced herself to stand tall instead of shaking like a leaf in the wind. Even her heart slowed its mad beating. She took a deep breath – likely, one of her last ones – and quietly let it out. If this was it, then so be it. But she would neither break nor beg. In the end, Gwen liked to think that she was brave.

Even as her skin crawled, she never looked away from Uther’s cold, dead stare.

He took a single step closer. “I take no pleasure in this.”

She doubted that.

“But it must be done.” He betrayed himself then, for the hatred that he surely felt flashed across his face, twisting it; Morgana had worn the same look when Gwen had caught a glimpse of her in the royal chambers.

“Arthur’s transgressions have gone on for too long,” Uther said. “An end must be put to it. I will not allow my own son to jeopardize my legacy.”

Something bitter rose in Gwen’s throat. The man who killed her father, and burned the innocent, and drowned children, then bent and broke when his own child hated him as much as he hated everyone else – he would preach to the world about legacies?

“Your legacy,” Gwen said, “is tyranny, and madness, and death.”

Uther surged forward with an angry cry. Gwen blinked and he stood right before her, his sword hand drawn back as if ready to strike, the blade aimed at her chest. Gwen’s heart slammed against her ribs like a frightened bird against the bars of its cage. But she did not yield.

“Kill me if you like,” she told Uther through gritted teeth, staring up into his face with contempt. “It won’t change anything. You will never get what you want. Because Arthur will never be like you.”

Uther’s lip curled, his chest expanding; if he were breathing, he might look like a raging bull. Gwen felt the strange urge to smile.

“And there is nothing you can do to change that,” she said.

Another cry tore itself out of Uther and he dealt her a blow – not with the blade, but with a force that punched all the air out of Gwen’s lungs and knocked her off her feet. She crashed onto the steps below the thrones, screaming at the pain that seared through her side and head. The little translucent jewels Guenevere had given her fell out of her hair, clinking and rolling against the stone floors.

Someone sounded the warning bells. They tolled and tolled and echoed inside Gwen’s skull.

A trickle of warm blood ran down her temple. Gwen’s vision blurred and her entire body reeled in protest as she strenuously rolled over on her back, biting back whimpers. She planted her elbows on the topmost step and propped herself up.

Uther was above her, sword poised to drive itself into her heart. And the latter picked up speed again, like it was chasing every last beat it had left, thumping wildly to the sounds of the warning bells. They were all she could hear. All she could see, was the tip of sharp, glinting steel swimming above her.

Then, she saw Excalibur.

It stopped Uther’s sword as it came down, the two blades meeting with a loud, grinding sound.

Arthur pushed his father back, and if Uther were human, he might have stumbled under the force of it. As it were, he seemed to merely glide a few steps back, enraged. Gwen’s breathing stuttered, Arthur’s name getting stuck in her throat.

He stepped in front of her, Excalibur held tightly with both hands.

“Leave her alone,” he panted.

Uther looked – disappointed.

“I do not do this to hurt you, Arthur,” he said, and because he did so as if he cared, it sounded more twisted than anything else that had come out of his mouth. “I am only trying to teach you what it means to be king.”

“What’s my lesson, then?” Arthur asked. Though Gwen could not see his face, she knew he was crying. “That I should be cruel? Or is it that I should persecute those who have done me no wrong? Tell me, because I don’t understand.”

“And that,” Uther said, “is precisely the problem. You still do not understand that a king rules with his head and not with his heart. Morgana does.”

Gwen’s stomach twisted.

“Camelot depends on you, and you alone. And you, Arthur,” Uther scolded, “have spent too much time letting it grow weak, and tarnished, because you have forgotten everything I had once taught you about what it means to rule. You leave me no choice but to remind you.

“The girl is a distraction,” he finally said. “Once she is gone, you will see that.”

Arthur drew a deep, unsteady breath, then expelled it sharply.

“Stand down.” His voice was cold now. “I will not ask again.”

“And if I do not?”

“I will put an end to you where you stand.”

Gwen gulped.

“I am still your father, Arthur,” Uther said. “I know you will not destroy me.”

Arthur was silent for a moment. Gwen wished so badly that she could see his face.

Then he said, “I am no longer your son.”

Uther shook his head, almost sadly. “You have been corrupted even beyond what I had imagined. I see that now.”

Arthur simply repeated, “Stand down.”

“Never.”

“Then it is you,” Arthur said, “who leave me no choice.”

The roar he let out next made Gwen’s breath catch.

He advanced, Excalibur held high, and beat down upon Uther with a ferocity Gwen had never seen in him before – like he was coming for his worst enemy rather than the man he had once endlessly mourned, like his anger ran so hot and deep, and consumed him so completely that it spilled out him in awful, blood-curling noises. He sounded like a wounded animal.

Gwen clumsily scrambled to her feet, watching as Uther parried the blows one by one, and Arthur fought and fought him, never letting up. The bells still rang.

It was as if Uther had forgotten he was a ghost. He met Arthur’s attack and returned it only with his sword, not once using all the other abilities Gwen knew him to possess. As if they were both mortal men, and Uther wished to teach him his lessons as such.

Sobs built in Gwen’s throat as she tracked their movements, helpless to do anything else.

The bells rang again and Arthur and Uther struck forward at the same time. Gwen saw it come before it happened.

Excalibur sliced through Uther as easily and as smoothly as it would cut through air. And for a split-second, Uther’s eyes widened with something like surprise – as if, for all of this, he still had not expected to receive the blow.

Then cracks appeared over his entire body, over his white skin and his black clothes, and from the cracks spilled a bright light, like a fire blazing beneath the surface. The broken pieces of Uther were eaten up by it, like parchment burning away – until there was nothing left of him, until he faded from existence entirely. The sword he’d held clattered to the ground.

The warning bells stopped.

Arthur staggered back a step. There was a thin, jagged tear at the back of his armor.

Gwen’s heart stopped in her chest.

Arthur swayed in the spot a moment longer, before Excalibur slipped from his fingers and it, too, fell to the ground. He turned around on unsteady feet, his other hand clutching his stomach where Uther had struck him. Blood seeped through his fingers.

“Guinevere,” he whispered.

And, like there was nothing wrong, he started walking back towards her, his feet dragging on the ground as he took slow, labored steps. His legs gave out and he sank to his knees.

“Arthur!”

Gwen ran to him and went to her knees, too, catching him before he keeled over. She sat back, gently laying his head in her lap.

“It’s alright.” Her voice shook. “It’s alright…”

She looked down at where blood was pouring out of him, staining his chainmail. She had seen enough mortal wounds to know one.

Arthur grunted in pain, his face contorting with it as he stared up at her, and Gwen shushed him, running her fingers through his hair to soothe him, even as she felt like something inside her was breaking – like there was a dark, bottomless pit opening in her chest, growing and growing and taking everything with it.

She kept saying that it was alright and stroked his hair, as if that could make it better, while Arthur’s eyes frantically searched every part of her he could see. He stopped at the cut on her temple.

“You’re hurt,” he said, like that was the absolute worst of it.

She shook her head, fighting so hard to stave off her tears. “I’m fine.” 

Arthur’s eyes did fill with tears. His gaze slipped past her, to the thrones whose shadow they were in, then back to find hers again.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his breathing ragged. “I – I wanted, to – so much – ”

“No, it’s alright,” Gwen soothed, slipping her hand down to cradle his cheek. “Don’t be sorry. You saved me. Camelot is safe now.”

His mouth lifted into a tremulous smile, his whole body seeming to sag in relief. He reached a weak hand towards her and Gwen grasped it, wrapping her fingers tightly around his and resting it over her heart. She bent her head to brush a kiss against his knuckles.

“It’s alright, my love,” she said. “I’m here. Everything’s alright.”

Arthur’s eyelids were drooping. But his eyes still found her face and clung to it, his fingers feebly touching her chin.

When he had set out for the Isle of the Blessed and pretended that he would come back, he’d held her head up and asked her to smile. He’d said it was the memory he wanted to take.

And Gwen, while her heart crumbled and tore itself to shreds, forced herself not to cry and made the corners of her mouth turn up, so he could see her smile instead.

She never let it slip while she held him, and his breathing slowed. His eyes fluttered closed and his hand went slack in hers.

“Arthur?”

He didn’t answer.

A sob ripped itself from Gwen’s throat. Then another, and another, until she couldn’t breathe and her whole body shook from it, and the tears came and spilled down her cheeks.

The doors of the throne room burst open.

Gwen lifted her bleary eyes to Gwenhwyfar, barging through with her Merlin and Sir Leon. All three stopped dead at the entrance. Gwen still sobbed, cradling Arthur closer.

Dragoon came through next but he did not stop, crossing the room, it seemed, as fast as his old legs would let him. He knelt opposite Gwen, his hand hovering in the air above Arthur.

The side door banged against the wall as Merlin stumbled in. He skidded to a halt behind Dragoon and swayed violently, like someone had knocked all the breath out of him.

“There is still time,” Dragoon was saying. “I can save him. But I have to use magic.”

Gwen met his eyes. Even in the darkness – even as his shape blurred in front of her – she would swear, again, that she knew those eyes well already, that she had known them for years. Her gaze went over his shoulder, looking for Merlin – who stood in silence, his body wracked with quiet sobs and his cheeks tear-stained – and found his eyes, too.

And somewhere in the back of her mind, she finally put her finger on what it was about Merlin.

“Guinevere,” Dragoon spoke, and Gwen, at last, knew exactly who she was talking to, “let me.”

She swallowed, looking down at Arthur, and smoothed back his hair with trembling fingers. His eyelids were unmoving, his head turned slightly towards her.

Gwen leaned in to brush a soft, lingering kiss against his forehead, then straightened and, with a deep, shuddering sigh, nodded her head once.

Gaius had been waiting.

They had made their plans to entrap Uther and sent him away for his safety. Gaius had retreated to his quarters, lit a dozen tall candles, sat on his bench, and waited.

In the hour that passed, the castle had shaken and rustled. Running feet and loud voices had thundered outside. The warning bells had sounded but Gaius still did not move, waiting.

The first to come was Guenevere.

She brought in her husband, supporting his battered frame, while Gwenhwyfar’s prince trailed in behind them, saying something about having knocked the guards out.

Gaius sprung to his feet with as much agility as his age allowed, and sat the first Arthur on his bed, helped him out of his armor and tended to his injuries – two broken ribs, one torn knee and one dislocated shoulder. Bits of information buzzed around him in a strange order as he worked. Gaius absorbed them all and, outwardly, pretended not to worry.

He dressed Arthur’s double’s knee, bandaged his ribs and popped his shoulder back into place, and said it was the best he himself could do. He had no doubt magic would later be used to heal him properly.

Having done his job, Gaius sat back on his bench while the others talked, and waited again.

The second to come was Gwenhwyfar.

An undoubtedly makeshift black bandage was tied around her arm – its shape would, surely, match the torn piece of her prince’s tunic. No sooner did she cross the threshold with haste that her eyes immediately found him, her expression etched with distress.

Behind her, Emrys and Sir Leon carried between them an unconscious Arthur. His chainmail was ripped over his stomach, the shape and length of the tear an exact match for a sword. Mostly dried, dark blood was smeared around the wound.

Dragoon trailed behind them, his red robes sweeping the ground and his features grave.

Merlin ran around all of them to quickly throw everything off their dining table, so that Arthur may be laid upon it. Gaius saw no injuries on Merlin, but his cheeks were streaked with tears and he looked so frightened that Gaius’s own heart stuttered in his chest.

The last to come was Gwen.

She stumbled through and closed the door behind her. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes swollen and red, a single streak of blood coating the skin of her temple – blood that Gaius assumed was hers. But the blood staining the purple skirt of her dress from knee to hem – that surely belonged to Arthur.

“Help me get him out of his armor,” Emrys was telling Merlin as Arthur was heaved onto the table, his head lolling from side to side listlessly.

“What happened?” Guenevere hurried forward, a hand over her heart.

“Uther ran him through,” Gwen answered.

“And Uther?” Guenevere asked tremulously.

“Destroyed,” Gwen said.

Gaius’s heart sank now, with a sort of dull ache. Because he had known Uther, known the Pendragons, too long and too well, not to admit that he also knew this was what he had sat around waiting for. He had felt it coming.

Pieces of Arthur’s armor clanked against the floor as Merlin and his double freed him of it. Gwenhwyfar was fetching clean water while her prince seemed to hover around her, just in case she might need help with a bowl and a bucket. Dragoon approached the table where Arthur now lay bare-chested, pulling back the sleeves of his robes.

Gwen’s eyes fell to Arthur for a moment, her lip quivering, before she raised them to Gaius and said, “We are going to use magic to save him.”

And Gaius – Gaius had been waiting for that, too.

Time, for a while, seemed to slow. The people milling around the physician’s quarters moved at a crawl and their actions, to Gwen’s eyes, seemed unreal, as if they were part of a different world that she only glimpsed through a thick, opaque veil.

She only saw Arthur, laid out on the table, the red stains on his skin and the jagged edges of his wound. Gwen felt a piercing pain in her own belly, in the exact same spot. Arthur’s eyes were still closed. He hadn’t opened them again.

But he was alive. Dragoon had said that his breathing had grown so weak that it could not be heard, which only meant that they had to hurry, not that all was lost.

“We are ready,” he spoke, breaking Gwen’s trance.

He stood behind Arthur’s head, while Gwenhwyfar’s Merlin had positioned himself by his right shoulder. Her Merlin stood by his left.

Gwen nodded, taking a deep breath before approaching the table. Merlin moved out of her way.

She took Arthur’s hand in hers and pressed a kiss to his forehead again, closing her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to stay with him. To hold his hand, and look after him, and talk to him until he opened his eyes again. Like she had once, when they were younger.

But she could not do that now.

Gwen drew back, then dipped her head to indicate they were to begin. Dragoon started talking fast with the others, speaking of spells and enchantments and magical things that Gwen did not understand.

She looked from her Arthur to Gwenhwyfar’s. “Are you needed here?” she asked.

He exchanged looks with his Merlin. The latter turned to Gwen and, his voice weighed with meaning, said, “Everything he can do, I can do, too.”

“Good. Then,” she addressed the prince again, “I’d like for you to impersonate the king.” She swallowed. “No one can know what’s happened. Least of all the knights. You can easily fool them.”

“What would you have me tell them?” he asked.

“Tell them…tell them that Morgana was here,” she said. “That she fled, that you saw her do so through the southern gates. Keep them away from the throne room. And say that…you wish them to search the woods for any sign of her. That should lure them far enough away while we sort everything out.”

He accepted without protest, with a nod and a, ‘my lady’ – the way knights took orders from their queens – and set for the door. At Leon’s questioning look, Gwen nodded for him to go as well, and the door quietly shut behind them.

Dragoon crushed some herbs in a mortar that Gaius added water to. Merlin poured it over Arthur’s wound.

Gwen turned to the others. “I’ll need someone to…clean the blood from the throne room.”

“I’ll do it,” Gwenhwyfar volunteered immediately. Gwen had the sense that she couldn’t bear to be near Arthur in this state.

“And I can help.” Guenevere stepped forward.

“Thank you,” Gwen said.

Gwenhwyfar’s Merlin had his eyes closed, though his lips moved, muttering things. Dragoon quietly spoke to him, and Gwen heard him say, ‘Emrys’. The air felt like it was stirring.

“What can I do?” Guenevere’s husband asked.

Gwen had hardly paid him any mind thus far. But he sat on Gaius’s bed, bandaged and bruised, looking thoroughly roughened up.

She sighed. “I think you should just get some rest.”

Rest was a luxury that Gwen herself could not afford.

She nearly fled Gaius’s quarters with her doubles when they had gathered enough cleaning supplies, just as the change in the air could simply not be denied anymore. The mutterings had grown louder, pulling together into strange, archaic words, as Dragoon’s instructions had gained in urgency. Merlin had hidden his face from her.

But Merlin was also the thing that comforted her. Merlin would look after Arthur. If Merlin was there, then she could leave Arthur – she could hand him over to magic, and sorcery; to the thing that had killed her father and twisted Morgana, and trust that it would save Arthur instead.

Doubts began to swirl in her mind. What if Arthur didn’t want this? What if she had made the wrong choice, what if –

She put a stop to it. There was no point in letting worry consume her now. There was too much else to do.

And first – she needed to find Elyan and Gwaine. Percival, too. She’d need him as well.  

“They know,” Gwenhwyfar told her as the three of them walked, just before they parted ways. “They found out about Uther and Morgaine. Then they got involved. They’re a bit battered up, but they’re fine.”

“Sir Leon told them to stay in your chambers,” Guenevere added, “because it was pointless to follow Arthur when they could not see Uther. They should still be there.”

Gwen accepted these explanations and thanked them both once more before they turned the corner towards the throne room, while she continued on towards the royal chambers.

She passed many unconscious guards and knights on her way, sometimes having to pick up her skirts and go on her tiptoes to step over them. Some, she was sure, had been rendered this way by Morgana, possibly Uther. Others – the ones lying comfortably on their backs instead of in awkward, twisted positions – she was also sure, were the work of some combination of Arthur and Merlin’s doubles.

Gwen hid in an alcove then behind a pillar as first Leon, then Gwenhwyfar’s prince passed with knights at their heels, leading them southward. The prince was barking out clear, concise orders, exactly the way Arthur would. He was doing a good job pretending. Or maybe he just knew already how to be king.

Finally succeeding in reaching the royal chambers, Gwen found the hallway outside to be deserted, though flecks of blood did remain on the floors here and there. She imagined that whichever men had been struck down there had later awakened and moved on to join their brothers’ efforts elsewhere in the castle.

Gwen stood at the door. It had been splintered, hanging uselessly off its hinges. The chaos inside was tremendous. Everything was either broken, torn or misplaced, and covered with a light sheen of dust and powder.

In the middle of it all, were Elyan, Percival and Gwaine. They appeared banged up but still entirely in one piece. They milled about, picking up loose pieces and righting chairs or shields, as if wanting to help and not knowing what else to do.

They stopped at the sight of her. Their eyes went to the bloodstain on her dress at once.

Elyan rushed forward. “Gwen – ”

“It’s not mine,” she said. Now their eyes were big and fearful, and Gwen swallowed, adding, “Arthur was injured. The others are taking care of him.”

“Will he be alright?” Gwaine asked.

“I don’t know.”

Her voice cracked and Elyan’s arms came around her, gathering her in a strong hug. Gwen shut her eyes tight. She drew back after a moment, giving her brother a tired smile.

“Morgana has fled and Uther is gone,” she said next. “But everyone’s been roused and whatever happens to Arthur, we must take care of it. It is best no one ever learn the full extent of what transpired here tonight.”

“What do you need us to do?” Elyan asked.

“Sir Leon and Arthur’s double are leading the rest of the knights towards the woods, under the guise of searching for Morgana,” Gwen said. “Percival, gather everyone else you can and say the king wishes for them to secure the castle. Lead them anywhere you like, except the throne room and Gaius’s quarters.”

She turned to Gwaine. “See to the members of the court. I’m they sure they have lots of questions. Tell them the danger has likely passed but that they are to remain in their rooms while the king makes sure of it, for their safety.”

Finally, to Elyan, she said, “Go to the lower town. I don’t know if the people have realized what’s happened or if they were frightened by it, but make sure everyone’s alright.”

They accepted her directives with solemn nods and filed out of the chambers to see them carried out. Elyan squeezed her shoulder and kissed her hair before leaving.

Alone, Gwen took a steadying breath and crossed the room to the sleeping quarters. They, too, had been affected in the fight. The bed had lost one of its four posts, which left it looking askew and unstable. A piece of the ceiling had fallen onto the mattress. Arthur’s desk was overturned, pieces of parchment strewn around it. The vanity where Gwen had put her little vials of ladies’ things three days ago had been blown to bits.

She went to the wardrobe, which was missing its front but remained standing, and riffled through her dresses until she found one that had not been dirtied. She finally pulled out the blue one. She’d bought it from the royal seamstress, with pretty much every last coin she had, on the morning after Arthur had asked her to marry him. It was fit for a queen.

Gwen changed quickly, then balled up her stained dress and shoved it in a corner, to be picked up and, if her wishes were met, burned later.

She redid her hair the best she could and looked around. Only two chairs remained whole in the chambers. Gwen sat in one of them, curled her hands in her lap, and started to cry.

Gwenhwyfar knelt on the stone floor of the throne room and scrubbed it vigorously. She put such force into it that little soap suds floated up in the air and clung to the ends of her hair.

Next to her, Guenevere was attempting to do much the same, though her movements were stilted and awkward, as if she could just not figure it out. When they started, she’d held the scrub brush the wrong way around. She had to be told to dip it in soap.

Gwenhwyfar, despite it all, felt a twinge of amusement. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

“Scrubbed floors like a servant?” Guenevere said. “I have not, no.”

“A first time for everything, Your Highness.”

“Indeed.”

Not the least of which was the courage she had shown tonight. Gwenhwyfar glanced at her out of the corner of her eye.

“I was impressed, you know,” she admitted. “By what you did. You were very brave.”

“You don’t have to say that,” Guenevere told her quietly. “I know you would never need to be brave just to help someone. These things probably never frighten you.”

“Not battle, no,” Gwenhwyfar said. “But there are – ” she shook her head – “some things, that frighten me so much that I can hardly even speak of them.”

“Like your feelings?” Guenevere asked.

“Yeah,” Gwenhwyfar whispered.

Guenevere did not reply.

They worked in silence for a while. The blood was coming out of the floor, but the carpet would have to be tossed. Gwenhwyfar tried to focus on the stain in front of her like it was any other. She had cleaned blood countless times before, and it had never made her chest constrict like this. Tears were stinging her eyes.

Because this world made her weak and see her and hers in everything, and in her mind, it was she and not Guinevere who held her Arthur in her arms, his blood staining her hands and clothes, crying and crying and crying because he was slipping away and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

She drew a shaky, wet breath, and Guenevere stopped her clumsy scrubbing, lifting her head towards her.

“Gwenhwyfar…”

It was spoken so kindly that Gwenhwyfar’s tears burned hotter. She threw down her brush and sat back on her haunches, digging the heels of her palms into her eyes.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” her voice shook. “I keep – I keep seeing myself in her place. I – I don’t know how she bears it, she – she took care of everything, she – she’s so strong.” She lowered her hands, to look at Guenevere with watery eyes. “I could never do it. If it had been my Arthur, I – I think I would have just died with him.”

“He’s not dead,” Guenevere said softly.

Gwenhwyfar wiped her cheeks. “You know what I mean.”

Guenevere sighed. “I do.”

Sniffling, Gwenhwyfar stared down at her hands. She’d never felt so awful, so weak, so stupid. “I can’t be without him,” she said. “So, why can’t I just tell him that? Why can’t I just be brave? Like her?” She looked up. “Like you?”

“It is so hard to be brave,” Guenevere murmured, then blew out a breath. “But if I can do that which frightens me, Gwenhwyfar, then surely so can you.”

She hesitated a moment, then reached over and touched Gwenhwyfar’s hand. “And so, perhaps,” she said, offering a hopeful smile, “by the time we leave this world, we can both have the chance to be braver than we were when we came to it.”

Gwenhwyfar gulped. “Perhaps.”

Arthur successfully steered Camelot’s knights into the darkness of the woods and left Sir Leon to coordinate their expedition.

Having done so, he first made a stop in the kitchens – which he found after some wandering around and directions from a very confused guard – where he filled up a waterskin from a fresh bucket and gathered some bundles of clean cloth. He set out for the royal chambers, where he assumed Guinevere was, to give a report on his progress.

He had made the decision automatically, and only realized that he was off doing what he would do if she were Gwenhwyfar instead about half the way through.

Inside the chambers, he found Guinevere sitting in what seemed to be one of only two remaining chairs. The whole thing was rather incongruous; her, sitting there in an immaculate queen’s dress, while everything around her stood in shambles.

She lifted her eyes to him. “How is it?”

“Everything went according to plan,” Arthur informed. “The knights are searching for your Morgana outside the castle. They suspect nothing.”

“Good.” Guinevere nodded, then offered him a little smile. “Thank you. I hope you know how much I appreciate your help.”

“There is no need to thank me,” he said. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Not at the moment, no.”

“As you wish.” Arthur waited a beat, then pointed to the cut on her head. “But let me take care of that for you?”

Her expression pinched with wariness, and Arthur withheld a sigh. Eventually, she did acquiesce with a little nod, and Arthur pulled up the spare chair to her side. He uncapped the waterskin and wet one of the cloths he’d brought with water to begin cleaning her cut. She did not protest, but when it was done and he raised his hand above her temple, a flash of apprehension still crossed her face.

“It doesn’t hurt a bit,” he said. “I promise.”

She let him go on, though she still held her breath. Arthur muttered a quick incantation and her skin repaired itself like nothing had ever split it. Guinevere brought her fingers to it, eyes wide.

“There,” Arthur said, “that’s better.” He looked her over. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“I’m fine.”

She absolutely could have passed for Gwenhwyfar in that moment.

Arthur knew better, so he muttered a new spell, that had in the past proved useful for healing such things as bruises and small cuts in general, whenever Gwenhwyfar herself had tried pretending in this fashion. The way Guinevere’s posture suddenly lost some of its tension as she sat told him he had been right to do so.

He raised an eyebrow and her smile widened just the smallest bit.

“Thank you,” she said.

“It’s nothing.”

“Hardly.”

“Well, the way I see it,” Arthur said, “you’ve already got enough on your mind. The least you deserve is to be comfortable.”

Her smile dimmed.

“Have there been any news?” he asked.

“Gaius came to see me,” she said with a sigh. “He said it looks like the…enchantments worked. But he’s not woken yet.”

“That’s to be expected.” Arthur nodded. “It may still be a while.”

This seemed to comfort her, but she still cast her eyes down, looking to the hands she had folded in her lap.

“I wanted to go there, be with him,” she said. “But the knights have been coming to see me here, to give me reports and ask what they should do next. I can’t leave.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Arthur told her. “I know it must be difficult, but you are doing the right thing. It is Camelot that needs you now. I am sure your Arthur would tell you the same.”

“I know.”

Arthur started to smile, then found himself growing wary when she suddenly glanced up at him as if in consideration – and looked exactly like Gwenhwyfar doing it, whenever she was working out some puzzle.

“Your Merlin,” Guinevere said, “his real name is Emrys, isn’t it?”

At length, and after some deliberation, Arthur said, “Yes.”

“What does it mean?”

“Why should it mean anything?”

“I know that in your world, Druids’ names always carry a meaning,” she said. “I heard Guenevere say it to Gwenhwyfar.”

Arthur pressed his lips together, then sighed. “It means ‘immortal’,” he finally said. “But those meanings, that they put into their children’s names, they’re…sentimental.” He shrugged. “Nothing has to come of it.”

In response, Guinevere levelled him with a steady look that was far too knowing for his liking, as if she could guess exactly why he did not believe in such meanings – as if she could guess exactly how badly he wished that he did believe; that they were real, and that Emrys was right.

Feeling on display, Arthur looked away, clearing his throat.

“You know, I’ve spent some time with Gwenhwyfar these past few days,” Guinevere spoke after a moment, her voice kind. “I don’t believe that you are truly alone in what you want.”

Arthur wished he could believe that, too.

Merlin stepped out of his double’s room, where the injured Arthur had been transferred after his healing. Gaius now stayed with him, monitoring his state.

With his and his doubles’ combined power, Merlin believed the enchantments had worked well despite the gravity of the wound. Arthur had not stirred yet, but his breathing had evened out and his skin regained some of its color, which were good signs. They would have to wait a while yet, though.

As he walked down the few steps leading away from the room, Merlin’s old bones creaked painfully and he groaned with distaste. He again cursed his Morgana and her pettiness. He cursed this world’s Morgana and her savagery.

Then he caught sight of his king, the only one left in the quarters, still sitting on Gaius’s bed where they had put him, looking unsettled and jittery and in the sort of immense pain that had nothing to do with bodily injury.

“You’re going mad not being able to do anything, aren’t you?” Merlin asked.

“Yes.”

Merlin chuckled under his breath, dragging himself over to the nearest chair and sinking into it. “Alright, just,” he muttered, letting his head roll back and his eyes drift shut, “give me a minute, and then I’ll take care of you, too.”

He ached all over. He felt like a cloth someone had wrung and wrung until they had squeezed every last bit everything out of it.

“I am proud of you, Merlin.”

He cracked one eye open.

“I mean it,” Arthur said. “You selflessly offered to save a man’s life, when it was of no personal use to you, or to our Camelot, and without me forcing you into it. I think you may be starting to grow as a person.”

Merlin smiled wryly, shutting his eyes fully once more. “You’re getting to be a bad influence on me, my lord.”

“I do try.”

Merlin snorted, then said, “Now that none of us are in danger of dying a terrible death – remember how we found Morgana, and she was defenseless, and I said we should finish her off, and you said no?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Would this be a good time to say I told you so?”

“It would not.”

Merlin snorted again. “You never change,” he said. With a quiet sigh, he added, “Nor should you. It pains me and I give you a lot of grief for it, but…you are the best of all of us, Arthur. You always were. Just as you always should be.”

He could not see Arthur’s reaction to the words, but he imagined that his king looked as proud of himself as he currently was of Merlin.

“And if you ever tell anyone I said that, sire, I will deny it with my dying breath.”

“Understood.”

The door of the physician’s quarters opened and Merlin did begrudgingly look to see who it was. Emrys came through and, without a word, settled into the chair next to Merlin’s, letting out a deep, low groan. He closed his eyes, too, and Merlin followed suit.

“Where did you go, then?” he muttered.

“To find Gwenhwyfar,” Emrys answered in the same tone of voice. “Had to tend to her arm.”

“It didn’t look that bad.”

“Barely a scrape,” Emrys agreed. “But before he went to find him – ” Merlin imagined he was blindly pointing to their double’s room – “Prince Arthur had but one request, and it was that I should take care of her injury. If I didn’t do it now, I’d never hear the end of it.”

Merlin sniggered. “They are all the same.”

“They are.”

Arthur pointedly cleared his throat. “I’m still here.”

“Are we wrong?” Emrys asked.

“Well, no,” Arthur said. “Also, is – ”

“Yes, yes, your wife is fine,” Emrys drawled. “Last I saw, she and Gwenhwyfar were picking those sea diamonds you got for her hair off the throne room’s floor.”

“Good.”

“Also, this might be as good a time as any to tell you that I severely overcharged you for those when I sold them for you.”

“I had a feeling.”

“Mm.”

They sat in silence for a while, until Emrys spoke again, as if picking up the thread of some previous conversation.

“I can’t believe he actually did it.”

Merlin understood the sentiment perfectly.

“He destroyed Uther’s ghost,” Emrys went on. “Just like that.”

“Never thought he’d bear to make that choice,” Merlin agreed.

“I’m sure,” Arthur spoke, “that in the end, the choice was simple.”

Both Merlin and Emrys opened their eyes to stare at him.

“Maybe for you,” Merlin said.

“Did you not just say that we were all the same?”

“So we did,” he muttered.

“Look – ” Arthur shrugged – “I’m not saying that it wasn’t difficult. I’ve seen how much he loved Uther. But just because a choice is difficult, does not mean that it is not simple. Especially when you know it is the right one.”

Emrys considered him with a tilt of his head. “You are wise,” he said, as if it were a revelation. “I’d never noticed that before.”

“Thanks.”

“Can’t say mine is, though,” Emrys sighed at the ceiling next. “Arthur, I mean. Keeps talking about marrying some Millie.”

“Who?”

“Maybe it’s Millicent.” Emrys frowned. “Mildred?” He waved a hand through the air. “She’s some princess or lady or something. The point is, he says he’s going to marry her. For an alliance. It’s all very strategic.” He snorted like a horse. “Royals.”

Merlin opened his mouth to ask if it was really so bad to think about your kingdom’s future, then reconsidered. He – couldn’t get in the middle of that. He didn’t have the strength.

He feared his Arthur might indeed want to get in the middle of it, but if he had such intentions, they were derailed by Emrys, who had seemingly jumped onto his next train of thought.

“Not sure the one from this world is wise, either,” he mused. “He’s nice and all, very noble and whatnot, but he just doesn’t seem that clever overall.” He turned to Merlin. “Do you think he’ll finally work out our double’s secret, after everything that’s happened?”

Merlin would certainly place no wager with Emrys on it. It would be like tossing money down a pit, in his opinion. Deciding, however, to practice some more kindness, he chose not to voice such things aloud.

“Who can say?” he replied instead. “But I would not put it past the future queen.”

When Merlin came, Gwen still sat in the same spot, though the room around her had changed drastically.

Arthur’s double, after having tended to her scrapes and bruises, seemed quite eager to put his talents to further use – either to be kind or just to avoid talking about his feelings – and had used magic to restore the furniture to its former state to the best of his ability. Gwen had let him. And every new act of magic she witnessed made it seem just a little less frightening.

The result of the man’s efforts was imperfect, and Gwen assumed no sorcery could undo this damage, but it was a start.

On his way out, he’d passed Gwaine, who came to report all the questions various lords and ladies had asked and that he did not know how to answer. Gwen came up with some lies for him to repeat. As he left, he was replaced with Sir Leon, who wished to know how long to keep the knights occupied for. Re-crossing the threshold, he bypassed Sir Ranulf, who dutifully informed that the south wing and the east tower had been searched and secured.

After him, came Merlin. He entered with a goblet of water in one hand and a bluish-looking vial in the other, a small, nervous smile on his face.

“My double makes these,” he said, raising his second hand. “It’s sort of a…potion that lets you stay awake. I know you must be tired, so…I thought you might need it?”

“Thank you,” Gwen said softly. “That’s very sweet of you.”

His smile widened a little as he came to her side, to set the goblet on the table and pour the potion into it. It was only after he’d handed the concoction to her and she brought it to her lips that his eyes snapped back to the table itself, as if only then realizing that it was not supposed to be there.

It was wonky, uneven and splintered, looking rather like a child had smashed the pieces of it together and held them that way with spit and a prayer, but it was a table nonetheless.

“Arthur’s double repaired it,” Gwen said as she drank. The potion’s effect seemed almost instantaneous.

“With – with magic?” Merlin’s throat worked. He avoided her eye again.

“Yes.”

Merlin’s hands trembled before he hid them behind his back. Gwen studied him over the rim, her mind waking further with each sip.

“How is Arthur?” she asked.

“Oh, um, still unconscious,” Merlin said. “But the wound is gone, and his breathing’s getting better. That’s a good sign.”

“Indeed.”

“I think he’ll wake soon,” Merlin’s voice softened. “When he does, I’m sure he’ll be impressed. With everything you’ve done tonight.” He nodded quickly. “I know I am. I said you’d be a great queen.”

Gwen smiled a genuine smile. “Thank you. I appreciate that more than you know,” she said warmly, then looked down to her goblet. She set it down on the table. It slid down an inch.

“But I’m not sure that it’s true,” she added. “I don’t know that he will be impressed with everything. Especially with all the magic.” She looked up. “What do you think, Merlin?”

She caught his gaze and seemed to freeze him in the spot, like a doe who’d been caught in the path of a hunter’s loaded crossbow.

“I – I don’t know,” Merlin mumbled.

Gwen hummed. “Arthur once told me,” she said, “that he did not believe that all magic was evil, and dangerous. I didn’t, not then. But Arthur…Arthur thought some of it could be good. As could those who practiced it.”

She watched Merlin closely as she spoke. A small tremor went through him again, and his breathing faltered. Tears gathered in his eyes.

He ducked his head. “I – I should get back to him,” he croaked. He hadn’t fully said it before he’d already turned to leave, as if trying to escape.

“Merlin,” Gwen called after him.

He stopped, half-looking over his shoulder.

“This is very good.” She pointed to the goblet. “Efficient. When you said your double made it – ” she narrowed her eyes, pursing her lips – “which one was that?”

“Wha – what?” Merlin let out weakly.

Gwen rose from her chair, sidestepping the table. “Was it Emrys?” She quirked an eyebrow. “Or Dragoon?”

Merlin went so still that she might have mistaken him for a statue, if not for the wide-eyed, fearful look he was giving her.

“But Dragoon,” she gentled her tone, approaching him slowly, “is not a real name, is it? You made it up. When you were him.”

Merlin didn’t speak. He seemed to have no voice.

“I am going to ask you something, Merlin.” Gwen took another step closer, then stopped. “And whatever the answer is, all I want is for it to be the truth.”

That, it appeared, was what frightened him most of all. But he didn’t run, didn’t move – didn’t so much as make a sound, waiting.

Gwen took a deep breath. “Do you have magic?”

Merlin swallowed, then, his eyes brimming with tears, gave a single, shaky nod of his head.

Chapter Text

Merlin felt strangely removed from his own body.

The whole night had been something out of a fever dream. Uther, then Morgana; doing magic with Arthur, watching Arthur watch magic and not say a word; watching Arthur lie gutted and bloodied, and have magic be the thing that saved him. Everyone had watched. Everyone had seen.

And now Gwen stood before him, in a room that magic had repaired, and she knew, and she asked if he had it, too. Though it was just the two of them, Merlin felt like he was standing in her court, and faceless eyes were watching him, boring into him – and all of them were concentrated in the weight of her gaze, as she waited for his answer. She was his queen in that moment. Merlin felt as though he could not lie to her.

His voice betrayed him, but his head moved of its own accord, jerking in a shaky nod.

Gwen released a deep sigh. “Oh, Merlin…”

The tears in his eyes spilled over, running down his cheeks. His shoulders were shaking. “I – ” he managed to speak, somehow – “I’m sure you – that you have questions.”

“Many,” Gwen said.

He sniffled, nodding again. “But you – you must believe that I have only used my – my magic – ” his voice broke on the word – “to help Arthur. Everything I’ve done was in his service. I’m not – I’m not like Morgana, Gwen, I – I’m not – ”

I’m not evil, he thought. Magic isn’t evil.

“I know.” Gwen’s eyes softened. “Yesterday, Dragoon,” she said with a small smile, “told me that there was no evil in sorcery, only in the hearts of men.” She shook her head. “I don’t believe that there is evil in your heart, Merlin.”

Merlin only cried harder.

He blinked, and she was simply his friend again – the sweet, kind Gwen he’d met while getting pelted with fruit in the stocks, and she – she accepted him. She accepted his magic.

Her arms came around him and Merlin hugged her back tightly, sniffling into her shoulder.

“Are you going to tell Arthur?” he mumbled.

Gwen let out another deep sigh, drawing back. “No,” she said. “He shouldn’t hear this from me.”

Merlin nodded as he wiped his cheeks, blowing out a quiet breath of relief.

“But when the time is right…” Just like that, Gwen was his queen once more. “And soon…you will tell him.”

The first time Arthur tentatively opened his eyes a fraction, it was to the blurry sight of Gaius’s grey hair and Dragoon’s white beard. Their voices swirled around him in distorted whispers. Deciding that this was in no way the afterlife that he wanted, Arthur shut his eyes again and went back to sleep.

The second time, he glimpsed Merlin’s tilted, grinning face and his big ears, and came to the same decision.

The third time, he was drawn out of darkness by warm hands wrapped around his, and the pass of soft lips over his knuckles. Guinevere. He’d know her touch anywhere.

Arthur did put in an effort now, fighting off the cobwebs and the heavy slumber weighing down his body, and forced his eyes to open fully. Her shape blurred in and out of focus for a moment, but Arthur smiled anyway. She sat at his side, wearing a queen’s dress and holding his hand, looking about as perfect as any person possibly could.

Now this, Arthur thought, was the good stuff.

It took him perhaps an absurd amount of time to realize that even though he was dead – and Arthur knew that he was – he didn’t feel dead. Were people supposed to ache all over in the afterlife?

Guinevere smiled down at him. “How are you feeling?”

She was real. As were the hands folded around his. As was he. Which, to Arthur, made no sense, because he distinctly remembered being mortally wounded.

“Guinevere – what – ” He tried to sit up.

“Careful.” She put her hands on his shoulders to steady him. “You’ve been asleep for a long time.”

Arthur still propped himself up on his elbows, blinking at her. Then he glanced down his body. His bare chest and stomach were perfectly whole all the way to where the covers were thrown over him from the hips down. Which, again, made no sense, because there should have been a gaping wound somewhere halfway down. He distinctly remembered that, too.

He slowly raised his eyes back to Guinevere.

She sat back, her smile replaced by a more subdued, serious expression. “You were wounded.”

“I remember,” he said.

Her head bobbed in a little nod. “They used magic to save you,” she said bluntly. “I told them to.”

Arthur had no immediate response to that. His brain still churned at half-speed. In the end, all he could think of saying was just, “Alright.”

Guinevere rubbed her lips together. “I understand if it isn’t what you wanted,” she went on – and for a fleeting moment, Arthur was convinced that he was talking to a queen, as if forgetting that it hadn’t quite happened yet, “but I made that choice, and I believe that it was the right one. If you must blame someone – ”

“No, I – ” Arthur snapped out of it, shaking his head. “I don’t blame you for anything, it’s just – ” It’s just that he thought he was of the next world, and this was a lot to take in.

“I just wasn’t expecting this,” he finally said.

Her expression cleared and she smiled again. “I understand,” she said, then sighed. “It’s been a very strange night.”

Fully awake at last, Arthur struggled to sit up again. Guinevere helped him this time, adjusting the pillow behind his back so he could settle against the headboard – of Merlin’s bed, he realized. He hadn’t even noticed where he was.

“How are you feeling?” Guinevere asked again, brushing back his hair. Arthur’s eyes drifted shut.

“Like I got run through by my father,” he said quietly.

It came back to him all at once.

His father’s sword above Guinevere; the fight, the warning bells, tolling and tolling and tolling; the way Excalibur vibrated in his hand when it cut through a ghost, then the sword piercing his own body. Guinevere holding him as he bled out.

When Arthur looked at her again, her expression was troubled. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he said. “You have nothing to feel sorry about. He made his choice.” Raising his hand, he cupped her cheek, stroking it with the pad of his thumb. “As did I.”

She leaned into his touch, her eyes softening, and some of the jagged pain in Arthur’s chest eased. She was alright. He searched her face, looking for the cut on her temple he knew he had seen.

“I’m fine,” she said, as if she could read his thoughts.

“Good.” Arthur smiled. “That’s all that matters.”

She scooted closer to him on the bed, kissing his palm and wrapping her fingers around his wrist.

“How is everything?” he asked.

She sighed then told him about all of it – about how the knights were diverted, how all traces of struggle were removed from the throne room, and how the court had been appeased with a lie about Morgana. Arthur was – impressed.

But Morgana’s name brought on a fresh slew of memories, and it must have shown on his face, because Guinevere rubbed his arm as if to soothe him, her brow creasing with worry.

“I saw her,” Arthur said. “Morgana. It wasn’t Dragoon who’d killed our father the first time, you know. It was her.”

Killed by his daughter, Arthur thought, and destroyed by his son. Ended twice over by his children. How was that for a legacy?

“She killed Agravaine, too,” he added.

“Oh, Arthur.” Guinevere sighed again.

His chest began to constrict again, and Arthur shook his head; he didn’t want to talk about this.

“They’re all gone,” he said with finality. “My uncle and father are dead, and Morgana is lost. There is no point in thinking on it.”

And besides, Guinevere – Guinevere was the far better subject. “I would much rather,” he said with a new smile, “think about you. You’ve done so well, I – ” he chuckled a little – “I really am impressed.”

As if the approval lifted some weight off her shoulders, Guinevere released a deep breath. Her whole body sagged with it. She folded his hand in between hers again and held it over her heart, hanging her head.

Arthur brushed her chin with his knuckles, frowning. “What is it?”

When she glanced up at him, her eyes were brimming with tears.

“I thought I’d watched you die.” Her voice broke.

“Come here.” Arthur wrapped his arms around her, guiding her head to him and tucking it under his chin. Her hands curled against his chest. “It’s alright.”

She sniffled, laying her cheek against him as if to listen to his heartbeat. Arthur kissed the top of her head, burying his nose in her hair. He breathed in deeply.

“I can’t imagine how daunting it must have been,” he spoke quietly. “But you were so strong. You did everything right.”

He imagined himself in her place, and his heart nearly gave out. He’d have just died with her. It wouldn’t matter that magic could save her later. He’d just have been gone the moment he saw the wound on her.

He pressed another kiss to the crown of her head, closing his eyes. “I am so proud of you, my love.”

A strangled little sob came from Guinevere. Her shoulders shook slightly, and Arthur held her tighter, nuzzling her hair and running his fingers through it to soothe her.

He took a deep breath. “Guinevere – ” he eased her back, leaning in to catch her eye – “I know you had doubts, and I don’t know if you still do, but…” He shrugged a little. “You’ve acted exactly like a queen would tonight. Better, even. Truly. You were perfect.”

Though her eyes still shone with tears, the corners of Guinevere’s mouth lifted into a wide smile. “I don’t have any doubts,” she said.

A weight lifted off Arthur’s chest, to be replaced by something bright, and giddy, and happy suddenly unfurling it inside of it. “Good,” he said, “because our wedding is in the morning.”

Guinevere did not immediately look as overcome with joy and enthusiasm as he felt, and a truly, truly awful thought occurred to him. “You didn’t…tell them to cancel it, did you?”

“No.” She shook her head, and he breathed a tremendous sigh of relief. “Although,” she went on, “with everything that’s happened, it might be wise after all to postpone – ”

“No!”

He’d said it so loudly that whoever was puttering about in the physician’s quarters on the other side of the door dropped something with a resounding clang.

“No.” Arthur calmed himself. “We will not be postponing anything.”

“It would be merely practical in this instance,” Guinevere said with a chuckle. “You were just wounded, and half the castle has been blown to bits, and – ”

“I don’t care,” Arthur said firmly. He’d been through hell these past few days. He’d waited long enough. He’d wait no more. He was the damned king of Camelot, and if he wanted to get married, he was getting married. They were doing this.

“Alright,” Guinevere relented. “Our wedding will proceed as planned.”

“Yes, it will.” Arthur grinned, and leaned in to capture her mouth in a kiss. She smiled against his lips, holding his face in her hands.

Arthur forgot everything else, pulling Guinevere tightly against his chest. Her hands left his face and slid over his shoulders, one gently curling around his nape. Arthur opened his mouth for her, mindlessly seeking more of it, more of her, pouring everything he had into it. She deepened their kiss, her tongue touching his, and need began to claw at Arthur’s insides. They slid an inch further down the bed.

Someone cleared their throat.

Arthur reluctantly lifted one hand off Guinevere and batted it through the air in a shooing motion.

“I’m afraid this can’t wait,” Merlin spoke.

Guinevere seemed to care about whatever this was far more than Arthur did, because she pulled away and craned her head around towards Merlin, smoothing down her skirts and hair.

“Yes, what is it, Merlin?” she asked.

“Gwaine’s been getting some questions from the councilmen,” Merlin said. “He’s not sure what to tell them.”

Guinevere nodded. “I’ll be right there.”

“No, I’ll go.” Arthur covered her hand with his. “You’ve done so much already tonight, I can take care of this.”

“You need to rest.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he insisted, moving to get up. Guinevere put a hand over his chest.

“Stay,” she said, her voice soft but her gaze stern, and a little thrill that was wholly inappropriate for the circumstances shoot right through Arthur.

He settled back down. “As you wish.”

Guinevere gave him a smile, brushing a kiss against his forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She stood to leave, sidestepping Merlin on her way out, a look passing between them as she did. The door closed behind her, and Merlin turned to Arthur with a raised eyebrow that said he’d unmistakably picked up on his earlier reaction.

“Not a word, Merlin,” Arthur warned.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, sire.”

“Good.”

Merlin’s insufferable smirk remained a moment longer, before it softened into a little smile. “I’m really glad you’re alright.”

Arthur smiled, too. “Thank you.”

Then Merlin got that shifty look about him, the one he got whenever he was trying and failing to hide something, and Arthur narrowed his eyes.

“Merlin,” he prompted, “is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Merlin opened his mouth once, then twice, and then just sighed. “Not tonight, Arthur.”

The next visitors that Arthur received were two, and they both wore his own face.

Guenevere’s husband came in with three goblets wedged between the fingers of one hand and a wineskin in the other, while Gwenhwyfar’s prince trotted silently behind.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “What’s this?” he asked slowly.

The former of his doubles broke into a grin. “We heard you were awake, and more importantly, alive,” he said in good spirits. “We’ve come to celebrate, of course.”

Arthur’s eyes slipped to the latter of his doubles, who, in contrast, looked rather like he wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten here, and didn’t particularly fancy a stay all that much.

He mumbled something about missing a second chair, then went to fetch it from the physician’s quarters.

“He’s trying to avoid Gwenhwyfar, I think.” Arthur received a whispered explanation. “He’s in something of a mood. I found him sort of wandering about the place, so I thought it’d be best to just bring him with me, you understand.”

Arthur just – nodded.  Whatever. His doppelgangers – one who had a beard and a child, and another who had magic and an evidently disastrous love life – had come from two different worlds, helped him vanquish his father’s ghost, and now wished to just sit and have a drink with him. Arthur decided to simply…accept it.

The prince returned with his chair, and both of them settled side-by-side at Arthur’s bedside. Goblets were filled from the wineskin, and one made its way into each of their hands.

Guenevere’s husband raised his. “To your good health, my lord.”

“Thanks.” Arthur smiled and brought the goblet to his lips, then paused. Should he be drinking?

“You’ll be fine,” his second double said. “You’re completely healed. The wine won’t have any adverse effects.”

“Alright,” Arthur said, accepting that too, and drank.

When he lowered his goblet, he found two pairs of his own eyes watching him intently. It was odd, and bizarre, and disconcerting. “What?”

“Well it’s just – ” his double scratched his beard – “you seem awfully…calm. Considering everything that’s happened.”

Arthur sighed. “You mean with my father?”

“I was mostly talking about all the magic, to be honest.”

“Right.” Arthur clucked his tongue, nodding. “You know, I once believed that surely, not all magic could be evil. And if the events of the past few days have shown me anything, it’s that…I was right then.

“And my father – ” he looked down to the depths of his wine – “he was wrong, about so many things. I see that now. He must have been wrong about magic, too. Because it saved me.” He shrugged. “It saved Guinevere.” He raised his eyes to his doubles again. “The truth is, I’ve stopped even thinking about it a while ago.”

A ‘while’ being, in reality, a couple of days, but as the last three days had felt like three years of his life, the qualifier surely applied.

A smile appeared beneath his first double’s beard. “There might be hope for you yet.”

“Hope for me?” Arthur echoed wryly.

“Oh, yeah. When I first met you, I thought you were completely hopeless.”

“That’s nice.”

His double shrugged. He did soon grow serious once more, something like compassion in his expression. “I am sorry, though,” he said. “About Uther.”

“You, of all people, don’t mean that,” Arthur said.

“No, I – I do. I may have never cared for him, in my world or any other, but…you did. So, I’m sorry you had to make that choice.”

“In the end,” Arthur said quietly, “the choice was simple.”

“I know.”

Arthur didn’t wonder how he knew. His doubles seemed to be able to read his mind, and whether that was because they were similar in some way or because he was just that transparent, Arthur simply added it to the list of things he’d come to accept.

Then he remembered something. “You know, there is something I meant to ask. Dragoon…does anyone ever call him Emrys?”

Both his doubles stilled in the exact same way.

“Sometimes,” Guenevere’s husband said slowly. “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing, it’s just…Morgana called him that. And your Merlin – ” Arthur turned to Gwenhwyfar’s prince – “he has magic, doesn’t he?”

It was in that gesture he’d made, with his hand, like it was both a shield and a weapon when it wielded neither. Arthur had seen it in Morgana. Even in Dragoon, when he thought about it. It was, he’d realized, the mark of those with magic.

“He…does,” the prince said at length.

“Huh.” Arthur took a moment to revel in his own cleverness, then chuckled. “It’s sort of funny, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“Well, just – I mean, in your world, you and I both have magic, but in mine, neither of us do. It’s like we’re opposites of each other. That’s kind of funny, right?”

His doubles did not seem to find it so. In fact, the looks they bestowed on him now were rather the sort one might reserve for the particularly slow and dim-witted, and Arthur frowned. “What?”

“Nothing,” they said as one, slowly shaking their heads, then hid their faces behind their goblets.

Whatever, Arthur thought again. Processing recent events had taken just about everything out of him. He had neither the will nor the energy to try and work out there two as well.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. Arthur leaned back against the headboard, sipping more of his own wine as he replayed those events in his head one more time. He sighed at the ceiling.

“Not that I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” he said after a while, “but this…has been the absolute worst possible way to spend the days before my wedding.”

Guenevere’s husband seemed to sympathize. Gwenhwyfar’s prince, on the other hand, scoffed.

“Oh, what have you got to complain about?” he groused. “At least yours wants to marry you.”

Now he was the one to receive the full double weight of his own gaze, though he seemed impervious to this, scowling down at his goblet.

Carefully, the way he would approach a sleeping bear, Arthur asked, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Guenevere’s husband prodded.

“Yes.”

“No, of course, you must be. That’s why you’re so tetchy.”

“I’m not tetchy.”

“Right. And why should you be? Because what does it matter that she doesn’t want you? After all, the way Em – your Merlin tells it, you’re marrying…Millie, was it?”

“Mithian.” The prince’s eye twitched.

Their double’s mouth was opened and poised to continue his needling, but he froze mid-word, his eyes bulging – and, just as he had when he’d first met him, Arthur really wished he hadn’t shown him what his face looked like doing that.

“Gods, not her…”

“Why, what’s wrong with her?” Arthur asked. The only Mithian that he had ever known of was Princess Mithian of Nemeth, and well, he’d never heard anything exceptionally ghastly about her.

His double’s cheeks tinged with pink above his scruff, and he looked down to the goblet in his hand. “Well, it’s just – I mean, the one I know, she…did something.”

“Did what?”

He mumbled things, except Arthur couldn’t have possibly heard that right, so he said, “What’s that now?”

His double took a deep breath, then another, then said, “She tried to take my wife to bed.”

Arthur had no idea what to say to that.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem for me,” the prince said.

“Right…because women never like Gwenhwyfar.”

Arthur had no idea what to say to that either. He briefly wondered if women liked Guinevere, too, then remembered that it was hardly the priority in this conversation. “Do you really mean to do it?” he asked. “Marry her?”

“It’s what’s best for Camelot,” was the solemn, unenthusiastic reply he received, while Guenevere’s husband rolled his eyes and shook his head, and Arthur felt that he might finally give some credence to the idea that his doubles were his reflections in more than just appearance. He’d been both of them, at one point or another.

“Eh, maybe,” he said, “for politics. But, if you’d like to know what I think – ”

“Oh, let me guess,” his double said. “Are politics really what’s most important, and what does an alliance matter anyway if I am not happy, and should I not just follow my heart and fulfill my destiny, which I do not actually know but must assume is somehow great?”

Arthur opened his mouth then closed it, pursing his lips. “Have you been speaking to Merlin?”

“Well, mine has been speaking to me. Or at me.” The prince knocked back the rest of his wine. “He won’t shut up about it.”

That sounded about right. “Maybe he has a point,” Arthur said.

“He does have a point,” his other double said. “Everyone knows who you really desire. Including her.”

The prince screwed his eyes shut, his jaw ticking. “Well, it doesn’t matter, does it?” he snapped. “It doesn’t matter what I want, because she doesn’t want me! Why does no one understand that? She doesn’t want to be with me!”

Silence followed his outburst.

He expelled a quiet sigh, rubbing his forehead. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just…I came here, and I told myself that I wouldn’t, that it changes nothing, but I look at you – ” he gestured to his right, then to the bed where Arthur sat – “and at you, and you…you both have what I want, and everyone – everyone is telling me that I can have it, too, except that I know that I can’t, and that – ” his jaw clenched – “hurts.”

“Did she actually tell you that?” Guenevere’s husband asked. “Gwenhwyfar? That it can never be?”

“She is the one who said I should marry Mithian,” was the flat reply he received. “Does that answer your question, Highness?”

“Oh…yeah, that’s…that’s pretty damning.”

It was. But Arthur thought back on Gwenhwyfar, looking troubled and uncertain, asking if he would want Guinevere to choose him if she was perfect and he was not. “Maybe it’s not like that,” he said. “Maybe she’s just frightened.”

“Gwenhwyfar’s not frightened of anything.” Her prince’s voice was quiet now, his eyes fixed to the depths of his empty goblet. “You know, tonight…tonight was the first time I’d ever heard her say she was afraid. And that was when Morgana took Excalibur from her.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, then reached for the wineskin and poured himself a refill.

“Be that as it may,” Arthur said, “and even if…it never changes – ” he shrugged – “that doesn’t mean you should doom yourself to be unhappy.” And he was sure his double would be. Just as he was sure he would have been, with anyone other than Guinevere. “There are other ways to make allies. A common purpose unites just as well.”

His double looked up at him, then chuckled under his breath. “That’s how I made my first allies, actually.”

Arthur could only assume he meant the druids and Gwenhwyfar herself. “See? No use in making yourself miserable for the rest of your days.”

“Maybe.” A fleeting, tired smile crossed the prince’s face, before it disappeared behind his goblet. “Though I fear I am to be miserable either way.”

Their other double shook his head. “There is always hope.”

He sounded like Guinevere.

The prince shut his eyes as if pained, looking like he might want to refute that, then simply sighed and let it go. Silence lingered for a while, before he raised his eyes to Arthur again.

“I’m not sure you’re right, but you’ve given me advice,” he said, “so let me give you some in return. About Uther.”

Arthur felt that tightening in his chest again. “What about him?”

“You did the right thing,” his double said, “but if you are anything like me, and I suspect you are…then there will come a time when you start to think you might regret it.” He shook his head. “Don’t. Because we are what we are, and so was he. It was never in your power to change him. He chose his own fate. So, when you start having doubts…remember that.”

Arthur swallowed, a lump in his throat. “Thanks.”

“And let’s remember,” Guenevere’s husband spoke in that overly cheerful way of his, “that none of us have turned out to be our father’s sons, in the end. I really think we should be proud of that.” He raised his goblet. “To us, then.”

Arthur chuckled, some of his sorrow fading, and raised his goblet in kind. “To us.”

Gwen crept through the side door of the throne room, keeping to the shadows.

Gwaine had been briefed, the councilmen suitably appeased, and most of the castle sent back to bed. Before rejoining Arthur, she decided on a slight detour, having been informed by a passing Emrys – who had heard it from Gaius, who had heard it from a harried Merlin – that the king had decreed that the throne room was to be entirely restored to its former glory. It was to present nary a flaw, and he would tolerate nothing short of perfection for the ceremony.

So, Gwen came to stand in the doorway and leaned against the frame, merely observing.

Things were moving as if commanded by invisible strings – an overturned pot of white flowers righted itself, a crooked sconce reclaimed its former position –, pillars that had been marked by deep gauges from misaimed sword strikes were smoothing over, and the large, dark stain on the aisle carpet was changing colors; it turned from brown to slightly lighter brown, to ochre then to purple, and back again.

And in the middle of it all was Merlin, at the dead of night, his eyes glowing golden and muttered words falling from his lips.

Gwen wasn’t sure what she felt at seeing him like this; at finally getting a glimpse of his true self. He was still Merlin, but he was Merlin with magic, and that was – so strange, and so new. She wasn’t sure how she felt knowing she’d been lied to all these years, either.

But Merlin was still her friend. He’d always been her friend.

He spotted her lurking and immediately stopped everything he was doing, like a child caught in mischief. All movement in the room came to a grinding halt.

Gwen stepped closer. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh, no, um…that’s alright.” Merlin fidgeted in the spot self-consciously, as if apprehensive at having been so exposed.

Gwen gave him a reassuring smile, walking up to his side. “Merlin, I really have to ask…why are you trying to change the color of a bloodstain?”

She indicated to the carpet at their feet, and Merlin gave a strained little laugh. “Oh – that. Yeah. Well, um…”

“You can tell me.”

Some of the tension left his shoulders. “The thing is, um – did you know that there isn’t actually a spell to remove blood from things, specifically fabrics?”

“I…did not know that, no.”

“Well, it’s true. You can enchant, say, scrubs and mops and the like to do the work, but as far as cleaning it with magic goes, it can’t be done. Seems like an oversight, if you ask me. Surely it would have proven useful to someone by now? Maybe I could invent a spell?” He paused there, pursed his lips as if reconsidering this stance, then gave a strong shake of his head. “No, that’s a bad idea.”

The words were pouring out of him so fast that Gwen began to suspect that he’d taken a fresh dose of his double’s wakefulness potion. Perhaps a double one.

“Right,” she said slowly, “so what you’re doing now is…”

“Well, since I can’t clean it and we don’t have time to get a new carpet, I’m trying to change the color of the stain to match the color of the carpet – because that, you can do. It just…might take me a moment to find the right shade.”

“You don’t have to do all this, you know,” Gwen told him with an affectionate smile.

“No, I do,” Merlin said. “Arthur gave orders. Very…firm orders.” After a beat, he added, “Obviously, he didn’t say, ‘use magic,’ because he doesn’t know about that, but he did say, ‘make it happen, Merlin, or I swear to God,’ so…”

And this, Gwen imagined, was usually how he made the things Arthur asked for happen.

“He is very keen on keeping to the original schedule,” she said.

“You can’t really blame him,” Merlin said, his words slowing to more sedate pace. “With everything that’s happened, with Uther, and Agravaine, and Morgana – ” he sighed softly – “I wager that the only thing that’s gotten him through it all was knowing that he gets to marry you in the morning. And he’s been waiting for it for a really long time, you know.”

“As have I.” Gwen smiled.

Merlin nodded firmly, his tone quite serious as he said, “And I.”

Gwen chuckled, asking for no further explanation, and turned her eyes to the two thrones before her. She stood beside Merlin in silence for a while, then said, “I have questions now.”

He seemed to brace himself, taking a deep breath. “What would you like to know?”

Where to start? “The time you disguised yourself as Dragoon,” she settled for the most obvious one, “you were trying to help me, weren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“You saved my life.”

“You’re my friend,” Merlin said simply. “Morgana had planted that poultice, she’d set you to take the fall. I had to give Uther someone else to blame.”

“So, that’s how long she’s wanted me dead.” Gwen sighed. She had suspected it, even since then. But the confirmation still…hurt.

“It’s not about you, Gwen,” Merlin said. “It’s about power. She wants it for herself, and you stand in the way of that. As does Arthur.”

“That still doesn’t explain why she’s become so cruel,” Gwen said quietly.

“No,” Merlin agreed after a momentary pause. “No, that doesn’t.”

Then what did, Gwen wondered. She could no longer believe it was magic that had corrupted her this way. Was it simply the thirst for power that had? Was it Uther’s blood running through her veins? Was it something else entirely?

“When did you know she had magic?”

Merlin sighed. “A good while before you did.”

Gwen might have expected that. “Did she ever learn about yours?”

“No. It’s a good thing, too. Otherwise…” Merlin trailed off, shaking his head slightly. “She’s only ever seen me use it as Dragoon – as Emrys. She fears me in that form. I’m not entirely sure why, to be honest.”

Maybe it didn’t matter, Gwen thought. Maybe all that mattered was that it might prove useful, in future.

She proceeded with her questions. Whatever she asked, she received an answer. Why ‘Emrys’? Because that was what the Druids called him. Did Gaius know? Since Merlin’s very first day in Camelot. Who else knew? His mother, the Druids, a boy named Gilli. Everyone else was dead.

Gwen’s heart sank when he said it. To distract them both from such sad things, she said, “The sword that Arthur pulled out of a stone – Excalibur. Where did you get it?”

“Er…it’s always been there.”

“That’s a lie.”

“It is, yeah.”

“Even after all this time, Merlin, did you really think that I would not recognize my father’s work just because a dragon had breathed on it?”

“That is a fair point, now that you mention it.”

“Was it the Great Dragon who did it?” Gwen asked. “Before he broke free?”

“It was.”

“And is he really dead?”

“Not so much, no.”

Gwen sighed. Profoundly.

“He’s not a danger anymore,” Merlin added quickly. “I promise.”

“He nearly burned Camelot to the ground, Merlin.”

“I know, but – he regrets that, and…” There was a sadness in Merlin’s eyes as he looked over to her; a pain. “He was the last of his kind. Uther had killed everyone else, and then he’d imprisoned him for twenty years, and…he was angry. He wanted revenge. But I swear to you, he means no harm now. Not to Camelot, or to Arthur.”

He sounded so earnest that Gwen didn’t have the heart to try and argue further. Then his exact words registered. “Was the last of his kind.” She narrowed her eyes. “That’s what you said.”

“Uh…”

“Is there another dragon out there?”

“Well…”

“Merlin.”

He ran a nervous hand over the back of his neck, looked away, then nodded and said, “Her name is Aithusa.”

He spoke that name with great care, the way a parent might talk about their child. Gwen realized that she could spend the whole night here, asking question after question, and still not even begin to scratch the surface of all the things he had hidden.

“You keep a lot of secrets, don’t you, Merlin?” she asked quietly.

“A few,” he said.

Gwen hummed. “Well, there will be time for you to tell me all about it. Just not tonight. There’s…only so much you can hear in one sitting.”

He gave her a little smile. “I understand.”

“I do have one more question, though,” Gwen said.

“Yes, my lady?”

Her mouth twitched. “My doubles,” she said. “You’re the one who brought them here, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

For as much as she had become convinced of the fact, Gwen could still not think of a single, justifiable reason for it. “Why?”

“I…” Merlin’s shoulders slumped. He looked miserable. “I was just trying to help you.”

As much as it moved her to see him, for all intents and purposes, impersonating a kicked pup, Gwen couldn’t help but say, “How was that going to help?”

“Well, that morning you came to me looking for a sleeping draught, remember?” Merlin said. Gwen nodded. “You had so many doubts, about being queen, and I…I just wanted to show you that you shouldn’t, because you’ll make a great one, and…” He sighed. “I wanted to…arrange circumstances, you know, make it so you’d be in a position where you could see – where you could prove, to everyone and to yourself – that you do have what it takes. The problem is, there is no spell in existence that could serve that purpose, so I…well, I thought I’d just…invent one.”

Gwen had no grasp on what was and was not appropriate in magical experimentation, but still strongly felt that the only appropriate answer to this should be, “Oh, Merlin.”

“I know, I know. I shouldn’t have done it. It’s all very…tricky business, I didn’t expect that, to tell you the truth.” He sighed again. “But I cast the spell, and then they were both here, and…I really am sorry, Gwen. I know it didn’t make things easier. Nor did it work as I wanted it to.”

Gwen took a moment to think back on it all – and rather than remember it as a chore, an exercise in maintaining her sanity, or a crucible, she found herself smiling fondly.

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Merlin,” she said lightly. “It seems to me that I was put in a position to see things more clearly.” She looked at him askance, her smile widening. “And I certainly don’t have any doubts now.”

Merlin froze. Then he slowly craned his head to the side and stared at her, eyes as big and round as saucers, his mouth falling open. “Are you saying that my spell…worked?”

Gwen just shrugged.

Chapter Text

The doors of the royal chambers made an awful, grinding sound as they swung inward under her hand, then once more as they shut behind her. Despite Arthur’s double’s best efforts to repair them, they still creaked loudly on their hinges like ghosts giving eerie screeches from the afterlife. In the dead of night, the sound pierced the ear and sent a stabbing pain through Gwen’s skull.

She walked further in, rubbing a hand over her face. The wakefulness potion Merlin had given her kept her mind whirring still, yet her body felt tired, longing for nothing more than soft nightclothes and a warm bed. The castle was peaceful now, but Gwen had truly started to believe that she would never again experience the sweet relief of sleep. The day was over, but it was never-ending.

“You look tired.”

If she had the strength, she might have jumped and screamed.

Arthur bit his lip, leaning with his back against the windowsill in the sleeping quarters. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Gwen said, smiling softly. “But I thought I told you to get some rest.”

“I can walk, Guinevere.”

“If you say so.”

As if to demonstrate just how capable he was, Arthur pushed away from the wall, making his way towards her. He really did seem fine. His face was free of pain, his body whole and his step easy – nothing like when he had tried walking towards her in the throne room, weak, stumbling and pale, his blood pouring right out of him and staining his armor red. Gwen forcibly pushed the memory away.

“You know,” he said as he reached her, casting a look around, “I remember these chambers looking quite different the last time I saw them.”

“Your double made reparations.”

“Ah, that explains it.” Arthur nodded. “I knew Merlin couldn’t be this good at his job.”

Gwen wondered what would happen when he finally did learn that Merlin, were he so inclined, absolutely could be this good at his job.  “Is that why you’ve asked him to take care of the throne room?” she said. “Because he’s so bad at it?”

“Well, he’ll make an effort for that. I made it clear that it must be perfect,” Arthur replied like it was obvious. His mouth quirking into a boyish grin, he added, “Like you are.”

Gwen chuckled, shaking her head. Arthur took her hand and pulled her in, wrapping his free arm around her waist. She went willingly, curling her hands against his chest. His heart beat strongly under her palm.  

“How is everything?” he asked.

She made to give him a full account – that she had told Gwaine what to say and that he had related it to the court; that everyone had gone back to bed, that the knights had returned from their fruitless search for Morgana, and that their lies about the night’s events had been accepted without question – but then she stopped, and instead only said, “It’s done.”

And Arthur only nodded, like her word on the matter sufficed. “Good,” he said. “That means we are free to continue this.”

He explained no further, only lowered his head to capture her mouth in an eager kiss. And just like she had in Merlin’s room before, Gwen sunk into it, threading her fingers through the strands of his hair. When he’d kissed her then, she had forgotten everything else – Uther, and Morgana, and the ruined castle, and her doubles, and Merlin’s magic, and the whole wretched ordeal. All of it had disappeared, and there had only been Arthur, and the warmth of his skin under her hands, and the strength of his arms around her, and the hungriness of his kisses against her lips as their bodies slid down on the mattress. If he had pulled her all the way down onto the bed then, she would not have minded. She would not mind it if he started pulling her towards the bed now.

Instead, and to Gwen’s disappointment, he drew back, though his hold on her remained tight, keeping her close. But there was a little furrow in his brow as he looked down at her, and Gwen began to frown, too.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Um, there is something that…I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Arthur said, with a touch of something like hesitation in his voice. “I’ve been thinking about it a great deal, these past couple of days. It just never seemed like the right time to bring it up, and now that this ordeal is over, and we are to be married, I…” He sighed. “I really do have to ask.”

Gwen smiled in encouragement. “You can ask me anything, Arthur.”

“Good.” He swallowed. “Then, Guinevere, what do you think about – um, of the – the, uh – the children?”

She blinked up at him. “Whose children?”

“Our…children.”

“We don’t have any children.”

“No, I – I know that, I meant – ” Arthur blew out deep breath, then tried again. “I just, I wonder, would it make you unhappy,” his voice softened, “if we did not have any?”

However much it surprised her that, out of all the questions in the world, this was the one he wanted to ask, Gwen gave it some thought. “No,” she eventually decided, one shoulder lifting and falling in a slight shrug. Arthur looked so relieved.

“To be honest, I‘ve never really thought of myself as somebody’s mother,” Gwen added. “But, Arthur…you’re the king. This isn’t just about what we want, what makes us content.”

“I don’t care,” he dismissed. “It’s…it’s not worth it.”

“Worth what?”

He didn’t answer right away, like he dreaded to so much as say it out loud. As Gwen turned his hand over in hers, her fingers brushed against the old ring that he wore on one of his. He’d told her once, that the same ring had belonged to his mother. That he wore some small part of her to remember her by, even though he had never truly known her; even though she had been dead long before he had ever opened his eyes for the first time. And Gwen realized that she really never should have been surprised at all.

She wrapped his hand in hers, holding it over her heart. “You have nothing to fear,” she said. “Because nothing will happen to me.”

Arthur nodded. “And you’re sure you will not be unhappy?”

“I’m sure,” she said, brushing her lips against his knuckles. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be with you, Arthur. I am happy this way. I don’t need anything else.”

Finally, Arthur smiled, too. A bright, full smile. “Neither do I,” he said and gave her another kiss, this one softer, sweeter, almost as if given in gratitude.

“I will speak to Gaius tomorrow,” Gwen said after they parted. “I am sure that he can concoct some potion or other that will serve our purposes.”

Now Arthur looked a little confused.

Gwen raised an eyebrow. “Unless you would prefer that we use the alternative method for avoiding conception, my lord?”

His confusion did not ease. It only seemed to deepen in fact, and Gwen wondered if, in all the time that he had spent thinking about this, he had ever actually thought it through. She let it sink in.

As if on cue, Arthur’s eyes widened, and his head started bobbing up and down in a frantic little nod. “Yes, speak to Gaius, that’s an excellent idea, yes.”

Gwen tried to contain it but laughter bubbled out of her, making her whole body shake within the circle of Arthur’s arms. He gave her a little squeeze as if in reprimand, grousing, “Don’t laugh.”

But he was laughing too, his mouth parted in a grin that showed all of his teeth.

“I’m sorry.” Gwen giggled. “But did this really never occur to you?”

“Well, my mind may not be as fast as yours,” Arthur said, “but you are the one who agreed to marry me knowing that, so…”

“Hmm, I’m not sure that it is that fast,” Gwen muttered. It certainly did not feel like it. It felt sluggish, despite the potion that kept it running still. Forming her every thought felt like trudging through a foot of thick, muddy backwater before it could come to fruition. She needed a bed. She would take any bed. A cot. Any flat surface. She would take a table, and the floor. She would take the cold, unforgiving forest ground of the Darkling Woods, and the hard sacks of grain tucked away in the back of her home –

Except that wasn’t her home anymore. It only occurred to her just then.

Funny. She hadn’t dwelled on that in a while. Her heart didn’t ache so much at the thought anymore either.

“It is fast,” Arthur said, picking up the conversation of which Gwen was quickly losing the thread. “Every decision you made tonight proved it. No one else could have done what you did, Guinevere.”

“I only did what needed to be done,” she said. “It does not make me unique in any way.”

“And yet there is no one else like you.”

“Hardly.” There were in fact, at this very moment, two other persons inside this castle who were indeed so much like her that they could pass for her own reflection in the mirror.

“Your doubles may be like you in appearance,” Arthur said, catching her meaning perfectly, “more or less.” More in Guenevere’s case, Gwen assumed, less in Gwenhwyfar’s. “And they may share some of your traits,” Arthur went on, “but neither one of them could ever replace you. Neither one possesses all of your qualities. Neither one would have been as strong as you have.” He touched a hand to her cheek. “Have I mentioned yet that I’m proud of you?”

Gwen grinned. “Once or twice.”

Even so, it still warmed her heart every time she heard it. She felt like she was glowing from his praise, and when he said it, when he looked at her the way he did now, it seemed almost ludicrous that she had ever doubted it – that she had ever doubted that the crown he wanted to place upon her head was truly meant for her. That she could be queen. Those same doubts that had sprung at her like traps from the grass, overcoming her, overwhelming her thoughts and her actions – they all seemed so distant now, unthreatening, like old, used, discarded things, laying forgotten at the bottom of a deep well.

Though the depth of said well could not possibly compete with the depths of her fatigue. “I should go,” she said. “Retire to my guest chambers. Get some rest.”

Arthur slowly nodded, as much as he seemed reluctant to part with her. Then he cocked his head, as if something had just occurred to him. “Were you going to sleep here?”

“What?”

“You came here,” Arthur said pointedly. “It couldn’t have been to look for me, since you thought I was still in Merlin’s room. And you said everything was done about the castle, so it couldn’t have been to receive more knights either. So…I’m assuming you came here to sleep?”

“Oh. Yes, I – ” Gwen shook her head slightly – “I didn’t even think about it, to be honest. I just came here.”

“I don’t mind,” Arthur said with a smile, lowering his head for another kiss. “It’s good for you to start getting into the habit.”

The day caught up with Guenevere after it had already passed, and the quiet peace of the witching hour had settled over the castle. She had spoken comforting words to Gwenhwyfar, helped to clean the throne room to the best of her limited ability, and gathered her sea diamonds from the blood-soaked ground.

She held them tightly in her hand as she made her way back to her guest quarters, then gently laid them out on the table. One was chipped.

Her husband joined her soon after, his feet beating softly against the ground as he closed the doors on his way in. He came to wrap his arms around her from behind, his beard scratching her cheek as he brushed a kiss against it. He smelled faintly of wine and that salve Merlin had applied to his cracked ribs before healing them.

Guenevere sank back into his embrace. When Arthur held her, everything in the world felt alright. All her troubles were gone, and all the dangers disappeared – and all at once, the longest day of her life started to take its toll. Her bones felt laced with lead and her head so heavy that she could barely hold it up.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Arthur said. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I always worry about you.”

He stroked her belly with his thumb, tucking his nose in her hair. “I worry about you more.”

“The danger to me has passed,” she said.

“And yet, it is forever burned into my memory.”

Guenevere let out a quiet sigh, turning around in his arms. His lips were already waiting for her, to give her a deep, lingering kiss. She clung to him, letting his warmth envelop her and take with it the last of the worries that had been plaguing her like a disease these past few days.

She brushed her mouth against Arthur’s one last time, guiding his head down until their foreheads touched. “The sting of memory will fade with time,” she said. “All that matters now is that it is over. We’re going home.”

Urgency coursed through her again – urgency to return to her bright castle full of knowledge, and wonder, and magic; urgency to see her daughter and hold her in her arms again. She’d almost forgotten, for a moment there, how much she longed for it.

“Was this world really so bad, in the end?” Arthur said.

“No,” Guenevere admitted. “Not so bad at all.”

She would not miss it, but she could not resent it either. For all its faults and perils, it had given her a chance to be more than what she was supposed to be. For the first time in her life, she had been brave. And so perhaps, she might even remember this backwards world fondly after all.

“Do you think my double will allow me to return for further study?” Arthur asked.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

He chuckled lightly, nodding. His nose bumped hers. “You’re right,” he said. “There are more pressing matters. Like returning home.”

Guenevere nodded. “You don’t think Elibel’s forgotten me by now, do you?” she asked, half-joking, half-serious.

“Don’t be silly,” Arthur said. “It’s only been three days.”

“Well, she’s still very little,” Guenevere said, “and so is her mind. I’m not sure she has a very long memory yet. Sometimes, I am not even sure she understands we continue to exist after we leave the room, to be honest.”

Arthur laughed. “Maybe,” he conceded, “but I am sure that in time, her mind will grow to be as formidable as yours.”

It was one of those compliments that he liked to give her, that were as immoderate as they were sweet, and though she knew the words came from love rather than reasoned thought, they still unfailingly lifted her heart. Like they lifted it now.

Then Arthur suddenly grew more serious. “I know what you said, before,” he began, “that there are things that you do not want her to learn from you.”

Guenevere averted her gaze. “I – ”

He gently caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, raising her head back up. His eyes were intent on hers. “You are not a coward, Guenevere. You have proven that, if there was ever any doubt. And our daughter,” he said, with the utmost conviction in his voice, “will never learn anything from you that isn’t extraordinary.”

Tears began to prickle at Guenevere’s eyes. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, nodding quickly. “Thank you.”

Arthur smiled. “I am so proud of you, my love,” he said, and her heart swelled to twice its size, “more than I can say. For everything you have done tonight. Even though watching you put yourself in such danger has been the single most frightening experience of my life – ”

“Arthur…”

“I truly am proud. Just – ” he blew out a quiet breath – “please don’t do it again?”

Guenevere giggled. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said lightly. “I may have gotten a taste for it now. All that adventure, and excitement…”

“That’s very, very funny,” Arthur grumbled, tightening the arm he had around her waist.

She meant to tease him more, something light, and happy, and giddy bubbling inside her chest like it had not in years – not since the first time she had held her daughter in her arms, since the first time Arthur had held her so close and told her that he loved her – but her husband halted her attempts by claiming her mouth in another kiss, this one deep, and possessive, and hungry. Sometimes, when he kissed her like that, her legs lost their balance and her head got dizzy, and she was forever grateful for the sturdy hold of his arms around her.

She felt herself being moved, her feet barely registering the ground they were sliding over, before she broke away from him with gasp as his intentions sunk in. “We can’t do that here.”

“Why not?” Arthur was undeterred, still moving backwards and pulling her with him, his lips brushing along her jaw and throat like he could not bear to break the contact for even a moment.

His tongue flicked over her pulse point and Guenevere’s chuckle got stuck in her throat. “Well, what if – what if Merlin comes back?”

“He’ll be staying in his double’s quarters.” On orders, Guenevere presumed.

“Still, it’s – it’s unseemly, in our doubles’ castle – we – we can’t…”

“Can’t we?” Arthur’s fingers slipped down her back, slowly pulling at the ties of dress. “Because I seem to remember a certain lady who took me by the hand and pulled me into a dark alcove of our doubles’ castle on the Black Earth – ”

“Oh, that – yes, I – ”

“And who put her hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t make any noise in a tent in Gwenhwyfar’s camp…”

“Gods, please never tell her about that – ”

“And who undid my armor faster than any manservant ever had just so she could have her way with me on – ”

“Alright, yes, yes, your meaning is clear,” Guenevere said hurriedly, her breathing ragged.

Arthur lifted his head, giving her a crooked grin. “So, what will it be, my love?” he said. “Shall we perform some unseemly acts in this world, too?”

Guenevere gave no answer, only took her husband by the hand again and pulled him towards the bed.

Emrys’s voice tuned in and out of her consciousness, fragments of his ideas flittering through her mind in pieces, none of them sticking. Gwenhwyfar stood by the window of her guest quarters and stared out into the night, her thoughts leagues away. Her very bones felt as heavy as a hundred stones from exhaustion, but her mind was spinning, turning the same thoughts over and over again in circles like a dog chasing its own tail.

There were no distractions left. No witches to fight, no ghosts to banish, no kingdoms to deceive and no kings to heal. All that remained, was all that always overtook her every waking thought, her every morsel of focus, when there was nothing left to draw it away.

Arthur.

The moon already hung high in the sky by the time he returned to her guest quarters. He stopped dead when he stepped inside the fully lit room, and both Emrys and Gwenhwyfar turned to him as one. The door quietly clicked shut behind him.

“So,” Emrys broke the silence, “where have you been?”

“Um – ” Arthur’s gaze strayed to Gwenhwyfar for a moment, then slipped over to Emrys – “I was…I was with my doubles. We’ve been…celebrating.”

Emrys quirked an eyebrow. “Since when do you celebrate…anything?”

“I’m not as dull as you think I am,” Arthur said, but though he was answering Emrys’s question, his eyes returned to Gwenhwyfar’s.

“Oh, no, you’re the life of every party, sire,” Emrys deadpanned.

Arthur did not reply this time, his gaze still lingering. Gwenhwyfar was starting to forget that Emrys existed at all.

And Emrys noticed. “Well,” he said after a pregnant pause, “I’ll just…go and be somewhere else then, shall I?” He received no response. “Alright.”

He stood and left the quarters, the door shutting again behind him, and Gwenhwyfar hardly noticed that either. The incessant spinning in her mind came to a grinding halt as Arthur still did not look away. He’d been avoiding her, but now she seemed to have his undivided attention. Gwenhwyfar felt a lot like a doe caught in the crossfire, bolted to the floor in some inescapable moment that came hurtling at her without pause or warning. She always felt that way around him.

He spoke first. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” she said, bobbing her head in a quick nod. His eyes left hers only for a moment, flickering down to her arm as if to make sure her injury was truly gone. “And you?” she asked. “Tonight must have been…exhausting.”

“All is well that ends well.” Arthur shrugged. “Uther is gone. Everyone is safe.”

“Yeah.” She gave him a small, hesitant smile. “I suppose that, in the end, it wasn’t such a bad thing that we stayed here, was it?”

Arthur did not smile back. “Not for them.”

“Arthur – ”

“I have been thinking a great deal,” he headed her off, and his features grew serious, the way that they got whenever he talked about his duty and the future of Albion, “since we came here. And tonight, my double said something that…that’s made me reconsider some things. So, I have decided that, once we return home, I will write to Princess Mithian…and tell her that my offer of marriage no longer stands.”

Gwenhwyfar’s heart did a flip inside her chest. “Oh, um…alright.”

“I know it was what you wanted,” Arthur said, “I know that the alliance is important. But the truth is, if I have a choice – ” he slowly shook his head – “I don’t want to marry someone I don’t love. There are other ways to make allies – strong allies, even. I should know that better than anyone.”

His eyes softened, only for a moment. Then it was gone, and he said, “So, it’s decided. I hope you will not mind.”

“No, I…I don’t mind,” Gwenhwyfar said quietly. “I just want you to be happy.”

He inhaled a sharp, bracing breath, as if she’d just offered him words laced with knives instead of kindness. Then he chuckled under his breath, and there was not an ounce of joy behind it. “If only it were that easy.”

“Arthur…”

“In any case,” he spoke over her again, “that’s…that’s it, that’s all I wanted to say. We should get some rest now. As you said, the night’s been exhausting.” Without another word, he turned away from her, walking towards the sleeping quarters.

She took off after him. “Arthur – wait.”

He stopped halfway through, his back to her. His fists clenched at his sides. “What is it, Gwenhwyfar?”

She gulped. “I just…I…” The words were right there, right at the tip of her tongue, ready to break out. She lost her nerve at the last moment. “I just wanted to say that I’m proud of you.”

It was still the truth. Just not what she’d wanted to say.

But Arthur’s head turned towards her just so, eyes widening with a hint of surprise as he caught her gaze over his shoulder.

Gwenhwyfar took a deep breath, then a single, cautious step forward. “For everything,” she said. “For finding the true extent of your magic, for helping Emrys find his. For everything you’ve done here. You were a king tonight, Arthur. It may only have been a ploy to fool the people of this Camelot, but that doesn’t make it any less true.” She nodded. “And I know, that when the time finally comes, you will be that king in our Camelot, too.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into a smile. It was small, but it was there. “Thank you.”

Gwenhwyfar smiled, too. “And – ” she took another step forward, her heart picking up speed in her chest – “about what you said before, before we went to face Uther…about…about you and me…”

Just like that, the smile was gone. “I said it was the last we should speak of it.” Arthur’s tone was curt.

“I know,” she said, inching closer, “but there is…there is still something that…I’d like to say…”

Arthur whirled around. “What is there left to say, Gwen?” he burst out.

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“Really, what?” he demanded. “What else have you got to tell me? That you’re sorry? That you don’t feel the same way? That you don’t want me?” His voice broke at the end – just slightly, just for a split-second. “And everyone here – Emrys, and my doubles, and yours – they’ve all been telling me that I am wrong, that I somehow got it wrong that you don’t want to be with me, like I am some sort of idiot who just does not understand!”

Hurt coated his every word and flashed across his face as he hurled it all at her, and it was a stab right through Gwenhwyfar’s heart.

“But I do understand,” he said. “I understood it the moment you told me that I should marry someone else for convenience, like what we had never mattered to you at all!”

Gwenhwyfar stood stock-still. She had never seen him lose his temper like that – not once, not in all the time she had known him. Not with her.

“Of course it mattered to me, Arthur,” she whispered, swallowing. “It…it still matters to me. More than I can say.”

It knocked some of the fight out of him, and it slowly gave way to confusion. “Then what – ” he shrugged helplessly – “what happened?”

Gwenhwyfar’s heart was in a frenzy as the moments went by, and each moment felt as long and as unsurmountable as an eternity. She had to do this. If her doubles could do it, then so could she. She had to. Just this once. Be brave, she told herself. Just be brave.

“I was afraid,” she said.

“You’re not afraid of anything,” Arthur replied immediately, as if it were an absolute, unalienable truth, then added, “The only time I’ve ever heard you say it was when Morgana took Excalibur from you tonight.”

Her chest tightened. “No, I…I am,” she said. “Afraid, I mean. And when I said that, I…I wasn’t talking about Excalibur, or Morgaine. That’s not what frightens me. I’m not afraid of her, or of battle, or death, just…”

“Just what?” Arthur’s voice softened.

Losing him. Seeing him turn his back to her and leave. Hearing him say that he regretted ever binding himself to someone like her. Watching all the warmth he regarded her with drain from his eyes and leave only coldness in its wake. But really… “I’m afraid that – ” Gwenhwyfar took a deep breath – “that I’m just not good enough.”

“You’re the greatest warrior that I have ever known.”

Why did he still not get it? This would be so much easier if he would just get it, and she did not have to say it.

“I know that,” she said. “That’s not it. Or – or maybe it is.” She swallowed. “I know I am a good warrior. But it’s…it’s just about all that I am good at.”

“Gwen…”

“No, it’s – it’s true,” she forestalled his arguments, nodding even as a lump lodged itself in her throat. “I am…impulsive, and hotheaded, and thoughtless, and I don’t….I don’t how to – how to – ”

How to wear pretty dresses and walk around with the weight of a crown upon her head. How to be wise instead of hot-blooded and how to think instead of act, to resolve matters with her words instead of with her sword. How not to let her heart run free – in anger, or in faith, or in fear – and govern her every action and her every word, even unto disaster. How to sit still inside a castle’s walls instead of roam an infinite expanse of tents and forests like a wanderer without an anchor or a home.

“I don’t know how to be anything else,” she eventually said. “How to…to be what…what you would need. Because you are going to be king, Arthur, and I…”

I cannot be your queen. It was as absolute and as unalienable a truth in her mind as her bravery was in his. No matter what they went through, no matter which way her heart pulled her on any given day, she had always known it, deep down in her bones. The certainty was as solid as the ground beneath her feet. It grounded her when her dreams and desires started getting away from her as she lay in Arthur’s arms in her tent on dark, quiet nights. It soothed her when her heart tore itself apart for knowing that he would eventually belong to another. Because it was better that way. Because in the end, she was never going to be what he needed.

And then a bright light had split the skies above her endless sea of tents and trees and brought her here.

“But then I came into this world,” she went on, “and I…I saw them. My doubles. And the truth is, no matter what I say of either of them, of either of their worlds…they are both my betters.”

 “That’s not true.” Arthur was shaking his head.

“No, it is.” Gwenhwyfar nodded hers. “At least they’re both honest about who they are. About…how they feel.”

Arthur stood very still now, watching her in silence. Gwenhwyfar dared to take another step forward, made her feet cross the small distance.

“And they’re brave,” she said. “Guenevere, she…today, she did everything that she was frightened of. I’m quite sure that woman might be afraid of her own shadow on a good day, but she faced Uther. She went into battle, and she was courageous. And the Guinevere of this world, she’s…she’s a servant, she’s never been anything else either, but now she’s going to be queen and…and she might be afraid, but it’s not stopped her. I know it won’t stop her. She’ll even be good at it.”

She would be great, in fact. Guenevere might even say that she was born for it.

She would say that they were all born for it.

“And I looked at her and I…I wondered about myself. I thought maybe,” Gwenhwyfar’s voice shook from the strain of getting the words out, of forcing them past her lips, stiff and uncooperating from always being sealed so tight, “maybe I could do it, too.”

“Gwen,” Arthur’s voice was tremulous now, softer; almost a whisper.

Gwenhwyfar’s heart beat faster than it had before any battle she had ever been in. It tripped all over itself inside her chest as she pressed forward, closing the remaining distance between her and Arthur, and lay a trembling hand over his chest. He didn’t fight her, didn’t so much as make a sound.

Her fingers dug in out of habit, out of the need that she always felt for him, tracing that well-known spot above his heart. She traced the pattern beneath his tunic from memory, so used to the lines under her hand; the lines of the black, winding serpent imprinted on his skin, the same as hers. Arthur’s heart beat out an uneven rhythm under her palm, just as it had the night he had first taken her mark upon himself.

The words were right at the tip of Gwenhwyfar’s tongue again, just sitting there, burning a hole in her mouth, but they wouldn’t come out. They were just the truth. Why were they so hard to say out loud? For a moment, she thought she might simply save them for Arthur’s mind instead, but that felt cowardly in its own way, too. Be brave.

“I love you, Arthur,” she said, and felt his heart skip a beat under her hand. “Despite of all the things I’ve done, or said, I have always loved you. I have always wanted you. To be with you.”

Arthur was perfectly still from head to toe, frozen in a wide-eyed mask of something Gwenhwyfar dared not put a name on for fear of losing her nerve again. She might have even mistaken him for a statue, were it not for his heart picking up speed, beating madly against her palm. Her own heart wasn’t faring much better.

“And now that we are both safe, and free,” she went on, “there is…something that I want to ask you. Arthur…” Her next words were strung together so fast she wasn’t even sure he could understand them. “Will you marry me?”

As imperfect as they were, the words still rang out loudly in the silence of the chamber, hanging heavily in the air.

Arthur still did not move. He scarcely even gave any sign of life, appearing to be barely breathing. He looked like she’d just clobbered him around the head with the hilt of Excalibur.

“Arthur, did you hear…” Gwenhwyfar’s voice shriveled down to nothing, her throat and stomach tying themselves into hard, painful knots.

She regretted every word she’d spoken. She regretted ever stepping into this battle. She couldn’t win this one, of course she couldn’t. She started to make a hasty retreat, drawing her hand away from him as her cheeks burned hot in embarrassment. “I – ”

Then Arthur suddenly unfroze and his arms came around her, pulling her into a hug so tight it nearly stole the air right out of her lungs.

“What – is,” she stammered, “is that a yes?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Yes!” Arthur drew back, and Gwenhwyfar was nearly knocked back a step by the brilliance of the big, heart-stopping grin on his face. “Of course yes.”

Gwenhwyfar felt her own face breaking into a wide smile. She had never seen him so happy. She had never felt this kind of happiness herself – like the sun was shining bright before her eyes even in the dead of night, and victory was hers, and nothing bad in the world could ever touch her again.

Arthur took her hands and held them in his, and as she watched their fingers brush and intertwine, Gwenhwyfar realized one way in which her sudden proposal had been ill-conceived. She chuckled breathlessly. “I don’t have a betrothal band to give you.”

“I think everyone already knows that I am yours,” Arthur said, then bent his head to kiss her, and Gwenhwyfar felt that kiss all the way down to her toes. They curled inside her boots.

Then her boots were leaving the ground altogether as Arthur gripped the backs of her thighs and guided her legs to wrap around his waist, nearly crushing her to him in his fervor. She felt the flare of magic surge through his body even before it spilled out of him, and a series of loud cracks echoed about the room.

Slowly drawing her head back, Gwenhwyfar cast a look around. Every pot, vase and goblet in sight had shattered, their broken pieces littering the floors all around their feet. She raised an eyebrow at Arthur.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “That one got away from me.”

Gwenhwyfar laughed outright, taking his face in her hands and lowering her lips back to his to give him a kiss. To kiss her future husband.

If she could see her now, Gwenhwyfar thought, Guenevere would tell her that she had of course been right all along, then bask forevermore in the glory of her own brilliance.

Emrys would tell her much the same, then never let her hear the end of it.