#And they’re driven into tighter and tighter corners until they’re given one last choice and all the options look the same.

[one-little-nerd-stayed-home]

Y'know I'm still thinking about Shepard's resurrection because after the initial wtf wears off, after you’ve resigned yourself to your cerberus crew, recruited a few people you feel you can halfway trust and maybe even one or two you know have your back - then you wind up on Illium and Liara pays your docking fees and you're kind of excited because hallelujah someone you know. Someone you trust!

And then you find out she's the one who put you here in the first place.

I keep thinking about being rebuilt by your enemies. Accepting the fact that they found you first, that this is just how it is. How it was always going to be - and then finding out one of the people you trusted. Maybe even one of the people you loved was the one who gave your body to them in the first place.

I think it's just that sometimes the good things fuck you up worse than the bad ones because it's good to not be dead right? To be loved to such an extreme that someone would go to those lengths to have you back… That’s a gift isn’t it? Nevermind what it does to you right?

You can admit to yourself, to others that the bad things were bad. But Isn’t it good to have a healed body and advanced cybernetics and all of the strength and skill with none of the scars you’ve earned through your life? Aren't you grateful to be alive? Aren't you happy to be loved? Aren't you proud to be brought back to save lives?

Does it matter whether you are or not?

I dunno dude it just fucks me up.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

EDIT: this is a continuation of this supercorp time travel au prompt fill.

So, in my head, the sequel would have picked up a few years after Kara went home. By this point, Camelot is beginning to thrive again. There’s been some lean times, but Morgana has returned to the person the people knew before the coup-- the kind, compassionate lady who personally handed out grain and bread in times of need. So when things improve, they know exactly who it is they have to thank.

The executions have stopped, and magic is beginning to find a place in both Camelot and the surrounding villages. The Druids have been able to put down some roots, and have proven themselves to be valuable healers (a good skill to have, when health deteriorates due to hunger/cold during the lean years).

One day, she’s out riding when a group of bandits strikes. Her guards engage, but when they’re overwhelmed she flees on horseback into the woods. Her horse falls down a steep embankment and the fall knocks her out. The bandits keep going, but someone else finds her. Someone with magic.

Merlin and Gawaine tie her up and bring her back to camp, where Arthur is waiting. He’s shocked to see his half-sister, but Gwen is horrified by her condition and immediately starts scolding them, until Gawaine points out they’d found her like that.

Gwen cares for Morgana until she wakes. As soon as her eyes open, the ropes fall away and she reaches for her sword-- until she sees Gwen, and her eyes soften to wary hopefulness.

Meanwhile, Arthur and Merlin are arguing over what to do with her. Merlin advocates that they seal her in a cave somewhere and let the bears have her, whereas Arthur is fairly more diplomatic. He’s not willing to kill family, no matter her crimes.

Gwen and Morgana stand there listening, unnoticed, for some time. Gwen is shocked by the vehemency of Merlin’s argument-- she’s never known him to be particularly bloodthirsty. But when she glances at Morgana, she finds a familiar rage building behind her friend’s eyes as the manservant speaks. Morgana isn’t suprised, and her hatred for Merlin is greater than her hatred for Arthur. Gwen tucks the odd realization away for later.

They’re noticed before either lady interrupts, and as one the knights draw their swords against the suddenly unbound Morgana. With a spread of her fingers, all the men are trapped frozen in place. Only herself and Gwen remain free to move as they please.

“I have no desire to harm any of you,” Morgana declares, voice soft until she meets Merlin’s gaze. Then her features and voice harden. “But I will if I have to.”

Merlin’s gaze turns petulant rather than penitent, but Arthur remains neutral. “What would you have us do?”

Considering her options, Morgana lets her hand slowly lower, and returns their mobility. “I would have us talk... brother.”

And they do talk. It’s not productive at first. They dissolve into shouting matches about every little thing, but at least no one is trying to kill each other. Between talks, the only person Morgana allows herself to relax around is Gwen. It’s in one of these quiet moments that Gwen asks why Morgana refuses to get within six feet of Merlin.

“During Morgause's first assault on Camelot-- the sleeping sickness...” Gwen nods. She remembers. She’s oft wondered if that was when her mind and spirit had been poisoned against Camelot. “Merlin believed me the cause of the outbreak. He poisoned me.”

Gwen doesn’t quite believe her. She’s certain it might have felt that way, when Morgana reveals she remembers dying in his arms, and then waking up in her sister’s hundreds of miles away from home. But she can’t quite believe that Merlin would do such a thing.

“I made my choices,” Morgana continues. “I’ve done horrible things, and I take responsibility for them. But... sometimes I wonder if I might have chosen differently, had I not been driven to her side.”

Gwen still can’t bring herself to believe it... until one night she accepts a waterskin from Merlin on her way to the tent she shares with Morgana. Old habits die hard, it seems-- she gives Morgana the first sip, as befitting their stations. At first Gwen thinks nothing of it, but then Morgana feels the slowing of her heart and the wobble of her senses.

Obviously, her first though is poison.

"Where did you get this?" she demands. 

Gwen's heart seizes in her chest. "M-merlin... he-he handed it to me, i didn't think--"

The terror that fills Morgana's eyes sears itself into Gwen's consciousness. In that moment, Gwen believes.

Morgana surges to her feet, but the powerful sleeping draught works swiftly. Gwen catches her as her knees give out, and holds her close as she loses consciousness. Gwen breathes a sigh of relief when Morgana continues to breathe, but her heart thunders loudly in her chest, hammering against her ribs and the new truth that stamps repeatedly across her brain. 

This is not the first time Merlin has poisened Morgana.

Gwen is furious, and very nearly kills Merlin right then and there. But she refuses to let go of Morgana, until Arthur finds them. Gwen tells him about the waterskin, but not the invasion. Morgana's had ample opportunity to share that knowledge if she'd wished.

Arthur is also furious, but-- he and his knights all agree that they should keep Morgana unconscious until they decide what to do with her. They pry Gwen away, and then set up a rotating schedule to keep feeding her the sleeping potion.

Gwen is not happy, though she understands Arthur’s desire to give himself time to think. She tolerates him, but not Merlin. She corners him near the stream the next morning, and promises him that if he puts one finger on Morgana again she’ll make sure it’s the last thing he ever does. Merlin tries to explain himself, but Gwen won’t hear it. As far as she’s concerned, Morgana only turned against Camelot after Morgause got her claws in her. Anything that’s happened since is as much Merlin’s fault as Morgana’s.

And because they don't allow her to tend to Morgana, Gwen goes into town with Merlin and Arthur on their next supply run with the intention of wearing him down and convincing him to let Morgana wake up. But when they get there, they find out exactly what Morgana's absence means for the rest of the kingdom. It's all anyone can talk about, and it's not a good riddance. The people are beside themselves, whispering their concerns about the Queen's fate. Gwen gently asks questions, and learns from the baker that Mercia has lent their forces to help scour the countryside for Morgana, and that the baker hopes the Queen is returned safe-- she knows that the transition in power was difficult, but she only knows Morgana as someone who allowed the court physician to heal the bakers son. "She has been kind to us, and times were just beginning to prosper again-- with the promise of being better than before." The baker wipes her hands on her apron. "The Queen has been good to Camelot." It gives Arthur pause, even though it rankles. Don't they know she stole the throne from him, the true and rightful heir? But Gwen meets his gaze. "A king's duty is to his people, even if he doesn't sit the throne. Can you truly in good faith throw your realm back into chaos?" Meanwhile, though Morgana sleeps, someone comes to the silent, powerful call of her magic. A pale dragon, young but fierce. The knights wisely don't interfere as it investigates their camp, and then decides curl up under her arm. It watches the knights with an uncanny gaze, as though daring them to come any closer. Again, they are wise enough not to attempt any such thing. When Gwen and Arthur return, they're followed-- someone overheard their furtive arguing about what to do with Morgana, and tipped off the guards. Soon their camp is surrounded, but these are not the bandits Morgause recruited to help steal the throne. These are the Queen's knights-- the young nobles who had come up and sworn their allegiance to Camelot since Arthur went into hiding. The senior amongst them surveys the camp, and sees Morgana alseep. Realizing exactly how it looks, Gawaine tries to explain. "We found the queen injured, and we've been tending to her..." Its all gutted by the fact that her hands were rebound in the off chance she woke prematurely. The knights arrest them all, and then move Morgana and her new friend onto a travois and they all return to Camelot. Arthur & co are locked in the dungeons, with the promise the queen would decide their fate when she'd recovered. Left to themselves, Merlin remains the only one adamant they'd done the right thing. Gwen is already done with all of them, Arthur is doubting his actions, and even the knights are starting to slide after the dragon business. Merlin re-affirms the danger Morgana poses, and her treacheries. "She's changed," Gwen argues. Or gone back to how she used to be. Before everything. "That's just what she wants you to think!" "That doesn't explain what we heard in the market," Arthur says finally. "We no longer have all the facts. We acted too hastily." And so it goes around and around until the guards come to collect them. They remained chained as they're led to the throne room, where Morgana sits enthroned, alone save the dragon curled around her shoulders. The group stands in awkward silence as Morgana regards them with inscrutable features. The sight of her makes Arthur uncomfortable-- his guilt of what happened in the woods weighs on him, and the visible proof of Gwen's words is unsettling. Morgana has changed.

She sits the throne more comfortably than she ever did while Uther was alive, and gone is the disrespect with which she'd slouched the last time Arthur laid eyes on her. He can see the honor, both expected and given, in the comfortable set of her shoulders. Finally, Morgana turns her gaze on her guards. "Gwen stays," she says simply. "Arthur as well. Return the others." His knights press tighter around him, but Arthur dismisses them with a gentle word. "Go." And then, "behave yourselves. I'll be all right." As the chains are removed from his wrists, Arthur realizes he believes it himself. He doesn't sense any hostility from Morgana, or any of the volatile rage that had gripped her the last time they'd met. "What is your purpose here?" Maybe he was wrong-- the rage is still there, simmering below the surface. She's just better at hiding. "Your men dragged us here--" "And what is your intention, now that you are?" Arthur's mouth hangs open, arrested mid-protest. He'd schemed of returning to Camelot for years. Since the day he was run out of his own castle he'd dreamed of returning home, of retaking the throne. He'd committed to doing whatever it took, but now that he's here, staring the biggest roadblock in her familiar green eyes... he hesitates. "I... don't know." Morgana blinks, but the spell doesn't break. The silence holds, and Arthur's heart pounds heavily in his ears. When Morgana speaks, it is once more to her knights. "Escort them to the guest wing," she says. "They are to remain under guard, together." She rises as her men utter their affirmations, and turns to leave without a second glance. As the guards take firm grips of their arms, Gwen can hold her silence no longer. "Morgana!" The Queen stills. Her head turns, just enough to listen. "I'm sorry." A sob catches at Gwen's voice. "I'm so sorry." Morgana's chin dips as she turns away. She sweeps from the room, and somehow that is more a blow to Gwen than the nights spent in the dungeons below. The chambers they're escorted to are modest to what Arthur remembers, but feels lavish after their imprisonment and years in the woods. A change of clothes is provided to each of them, and they’re left to themselves.

For days.

Food arrives on trays in the arms of servants who claim to know nothing. The guards tell them only that the Queen will see them when she wants, and no sooner. On the third morning, Gwen asks the outgoing guard to deliver Morgana a note, and that evening she’s collected. When she returns, she shares nothing of what was said between them. Arthur only knows that Gwen doesn’t speak another word all night, and he falls asleep to the sound of her trying not to make a sound as she cries.

Another two days, and Arthur still hasn’t been seen. He sends a note of his, if only in the hopes of seeing the hall outside the damn room. To his surprise,

He's delivered to her drawing room, where she sits as she often had at her desk, carefully writing correspondence. She always was better at that than him. "You asked to see me?" Arthur eyes the guards flanking him, but neither make a move to leave. "Do you intend to keep us locked up here forever?" "Well, if you'd rather the dungeons..." "I'd rather my men free and my seat on that throne!" The guards bristle, but refrain from anything further when Morgana lifts a hand. She looks almost amused at his outburst. Almost. "You asked my intentions earlier," he continues. "Now it's my turn. What are yours?" Green eyes stare at him. They remain utterly unreadable, but Arthur takes some solace in the fact that she doesn't have a response either. 

Two mornings later, Arthur and Gwen are summoned together. They arrive in the reception hall to find a war table and a band of knights and nobles around it. Lord Bayard stands at Morgana’s left shoulder, who herself is in breeches and mail.

“Lord Bayard,” Arthur greets. Bayard gives a simple nod, and Arthur supposes that’s as much as he could hope for. With a contentious claim on the throne and the sitting Queen at his side, perhaps it was more than Bayard would have done had they not once been good friends.

“There have been bandits raiding the border between Camelot and Mercia,” Morgana informs him without preamble, “not far from where you’d made camp. What do you know of a man named Vespard?”

It’s Gwen who responds first. “He’s a monster,” Gwen scoffs.

“Yes,” Arthur confirms, before the other knights can take offense to her speaking out of turn. “He’s an imbecile, but a cruel one. There was a village who put us up for a few days last winter. Vespard had just ridden through, demanding tithes for his protection from other raiders. They’d already been hit twice, and had nothing left to give.”

“When Vespard learned this, he kidnapped the headman’s daughter, and used her as ransom.” Gwen swallows thickly. “We offered to bring her home, but she was already dead.”

“He keeps moving.” Arthur steps towards the table, and the lords step aside to allow him access to the map they have spread across the surface. “We only ever found the remains of his camp. Here.” He points to the map.

“His number was too great for us to consider hunting. He’s no commander-- he loses many, but in the border regions there is no shortage of boys desperate to relieve their families the burden of caring for them. He’s constantly recruiting.”

Morgana meets Bayard’s gaze. There’s a moment of understanding, and then she straightens. “Bayard and I are leading an expedition to resolve the situation. We would welcome someone who knows the terrain more intimately.”

“I would be glad to accompany you.”

With a nod from both Bayard and Morgana, it’s settled. The lords begin to leave, and a quiet murmur starts as they finalize their plans amongst themselves. Morgana remains with Arthur, and continues to address him.

“Your horse was recovered from your camp as well,” she says with a hint of a tease. “But I think the beast has earned its retirement.”

Arthur huffs a laugh. They’d taken the withered nag off the hands of a farmer unable to maintain it. It had been rickety from the moment they took it, and in the end had been kept as an emergency source of meat.

“We’ll lend you another for the journey,” Morgana promises.

“And I thank you for that.”

“I’m coming with you,” Gwen interjects. She pegs Morgana with a hard glard, daring her to decline. “I’m good in a fight--”

Morgana offers a thin smile. “I remember. But--”

“Morgana--”

“This is not the battle I need you to fight,” Morgana continues. She beckons to a man dressed plainly but cleanly. “This is Ulrich, my chief arbitrator in distributing Camelot’s resources to those in need. We’ve made great strides in the past few years, but if Vespard is able to recruit to his cause so easily, then clearly there’s more we should be doing.”

Clasping Gwen’s wrist with one hand, Morgana meets her gaze solemnly. “Would you be willing to tell him what you experienced in the region, and work on determining how we can help? I’d like to have resources moving in by the time we withdraw.”

It’s not what Arthur expects, nor Gwen. She swallows thickly, but quickly recovers with a nod. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Thank you.” Morgana gives Gwen a brief squeeze.

“The men you hold in your dungeons are all skilled trackers,” Arthur reminds her. “And they know the land just as well. We could cover more ground if we split into smaller groups.”

Morgana nods. “Your knights will be released.”

“And Merlin.”

Just like that, the room seems to freeze.

No, not the room. The lords don’t even pause, but Morgana-- the world seems to warp around her when she falls preternaturally still. For the first time since returning this time, Arthur feels a frission of fear.

“The servant stays where he is.”

“You would release trained warriors but leave a manservant in chains?”

“There’s no room for him on this expedition, and I don’t have the manpower to devote guards to following him around the castle. He stays!”

“He can stay with me,” Gwen blurts. “I’ll mind him.”

Morgana’s eyes flash with anger, and her jaw tightens dangerously.

“Would it not be better to keep him within sight, your Majesty?”

Arthur’s not happy about it, but he recognizes it’s better than Merlin in chains for the weeks or months they’re away. He nods. “He won’t do anything stupid while Gwen is still here. You have my word.”

Still unconvinced, Morgana shakes her head. The previous ease with which she’d commanded the room had vanished, replaced with muscles tight with rage. But with a soft utterance of her name, Gwen calls her attention, and whatever she sees in the gaze of her former maidservant gets Morgana over the line.

“Very well.”

Morgana’s always been good in the field.

Arthur never realized how good.

With his help they track the bandits in a matter of days. Under Morgana’s command, they rout them in a matter of minutes. Arthur had been right about the number of Vespard’s men. Even with Bayard’s men they were outnumbered, but Vespard’s force is mostly boys unaccustomed to holding a sword.

Most drop their swords at the sight of Camelot’s finest, but Arthur realizes belatedly that it’s not just inexperience that causes it. It’s also the magic he says flashing in the eyes of more than few knights, and the outstretched hands of practiced sorcerers.

He’d heard that magic was no longer forbidden. He hadn’t realized it was thriving.

The sight unnerves him enough that an older bandit nearly gets the drop on him-- only to watch the man’s feet fly out from under him when Morgana sweeps them with a long leg and then plunges her sword in his chest for good measure.

When she turns, her face sports a familiar grin.

Arthur grins right back, and wears the smile all the way back to Camelot.

Gwen and Merlin emerge from the castle to greet them. He doesn’t miss the way Gwen can’t seem to get away from Merlin fast enough. Nor can he ignore the way that Morgana nearly bowls him over on her way past, her easy smile retreating behind a stony visage.

He asks Gwen about it that night.

All she offers is a shrug. “Ask Merlin.”

Merlin shrugs too.

No one returns to the dungeons. Arthur is assigned a guard, but he has free reign of the castle, and his men are permitted to train with the new knights of Camelot. Merlin is allowed no role at all, and follows at Arthur’s heels to the point even he starts to get sick of him.

Again, he asks why Morgana seems to hate him.

“Maybe it’s because I’m the only one in the castle completely besotted with her!” Merlin snaps.

It stings, but isn’t untrue. Arthur’s glad to be home, and no one seems even remotely interested in helping him reclaim the throne. The people are pleased with Morgana’s progress, with the peace that’s settled across the land.

Only Bayard has even thought to mention it.

“You’re the image of your father, Arthur,” the older man had rumbled. “But your father’s reign was a dark one. No one’s keen to return to it.”

Even Arthur has forgotten what he’d sworn to do.

“Morgana’s done a lot of good--”

“And does no one remember the evil she did to get here?! She killed people! She murdered your father!”

Arthur doesn’t respond. How can he, when all he can wonder is how many his father murdered.

Merlin doesn’t settle. Gawaine and the others all find peace in the halls they’d once called home, but each day seems to grate on Arthur’s servant like a sore pimple. And as his mood worsens, so does Morgana’s.

Things finally boil over while discussing a growing dispute with Nemeth. They’ve been going for hours, Morgana and Arthur going around and around with his men pontificating more elaborate and useless by the hour.

“Why not just rehire that mercenary army you used a few years ago?” Merlin spits in a stretch of strained quiet.

Arthur sighs. “Merlin…”

“Your nights are welcome, but your man is here as a courtesy,” Morgana breathes, arms propped against the edge of the table.

“I’m about to kick him out myself--”

Merlin has other ideas. “Or maybe you can just spell them to sleep like--”

“ENOUGH!!”

Morgana’s fist thunders against the wooden table, and her eyes flash gold to make every candle in the room go up like a bonfire. The room falls deathly still, until the Queen finally lifts her her head.

“Keep a better leash on your dog, brother,” she snarls. “He bays too much.”

When she pulls aways from the table, Arthur spies a tremor in her hands before they curl tightly into fists. She leaves without another word, leaving Arthur to adjourn the meeting himself. He does so in a matter of seconds, and goes searching for Morgana.

He finds Gwen instead.

“Please,” he says quietly. “Tell me what happened.”

Alone in her chamber, no one else is their to witness the way her eyes fill with tears. “Merlin poisoned her, Arthur.”

“Merlin? Poison someone? Don’t be ridic--”

“I didn’t believe it either, at first! But then… at the camp, with the waterskin-- she was so terrified, Arthur. Like she recognized it. And she knew, she knew in that moment he’d been the one to give me the waterskin.”

Arthur sputters. “But-- when? How?”

“I don’t know how, but it was during Morgause’s first attack on Camelot. The sleeping sickness. Morgause didn’t steal her to take her away from us. She spirited Morgana away to save her life.”

Shock trickles slowly through his veins like ice, only to be followed shortly by rage. The sleeping sickness-- that was before… before everything. If it were true, what Merlin did would have been murder.

And despite his best effort-- Arthur believes.

Morgana has all but welcomed him back, and given his knights a home under her crest. The other day, he spied a sly smile as she’d spoken with Gwen. But Merlin drives her to rage in an instant.

Now Arthur believes why.

Gwen works closely with Ulrich, and together they get the border region enough to last the winter and then some. Ulrich is pleasant enough, and dedicated to his work, and Gwen enjoys it as well, but-- she misses maid’s work.

Oh, she doesn’t miss the aches and pains, or the sheer drudgery that sometimes filled her days.

What she misses is the intimacy. She misses being relied upon, knowing that someone would miss her if she failed to report to her duties.

She misses Morgana.

As things fall even with Arthur and his knights, Gwen finds the path back to her friend smooths as well. She may no longer be her maidservant, but Morgana doesn’t turn her away the first morning Gwen appears at her door with breakfast in hand, nor any of the mornings that follow. Little by little, Gwen coaxes small smiles from the Queen, and offers tidbits of food to the dragon that grows by the day. It rarely leaves Morgana’s side, except to fly on warm, clear nights like the night that follows Gwen’s confession to Arthur..

Gwen catches Morgana as she leaves the great hall, and tries not to skip when Morgana lifts her chin in invitation to join her. As usual, Gwen fills the quiet between them with soft chatter. It’s nothing really-- just gossip she’d overheard amongst the other maids who cleaned the fireplace in her bedchambers.

“And it seems Phillip went and proposed to Sal--”

“The same Phillip who was courting Anais?”

Gwen grins at Morgana’s interest. “It would seem neither ladies felt particularly wooed when they discovered the duplicity.”

A dark eyebrow lifts, and for a moment it’s not Queen Morgana of Camelot who walks beside her. That eyebrow is all Lady Morgana, her dearest friend.

The Lady Morgana disappears when the sound of shouting ahead cuts through the quiet.

"--now answer me, Merlin! I won't ask again! Is it true?"

Gwen reaches for Morgana. Whether to hold her in place or drag her away, she doesn't know. But Morgana slips from her grasp when the unmistakable thud of fist hitting flesh precedes the hectic rustle of bodies grappling.

Morgana pauses at the threshold, one hand on the partially closed door, as Merlin is shoved away with a shout.

"You duplicitous bastard!" Arthur growls. "Don't you realize what you've done?!"

"She would have killed us all!

"So instead you killed her?!" An impossible sound escapes Arthur. "You... you are the reason for all of this!"

"I didn't force her to invade Camelot or murder your father! She made her choices--!"

"And you drove her to them! You drove her straight into Morgause's arms."

Arthur's voice strains and cracks. Gwen watches Morgana with her heart lodged in her throat. The Queen stands still as stone, her features equally impassive.

"You know," the former Prince continues, emotion squeezing at his words, "not long before she first disappeared, Morgana saved our father's life from an assassin. She saved him. A part of her loved him, even after he'd thrown her in the dungeons for having the gall to challenge him. And now I wonder if there was a part of her who still loved him that day... a part of her who might have mourned him, had Morgause not taken her away."

Silence stretches for an eternity before a rustle of fabric drifted into the corridor. Gwen knows instinctively that Arthur is wiping his cheeks.

"But because of you we'll never know," Arthur continues, voice like gravel. "And I will never forgive you for that."

"It was her or you! I chose you." The room rings with Merlin's truth, even aa Arthur's bootsteps click towards the door. "I always have--!"

The door swings open and Arthur steps through, slamming the door behind him. He freezes at the sight of them.

None of them move for a long moment, until Arthur meets his sister's gaze.

"Morgana, I--" He reaches for her, but an invisible force shoves him away. Morgana staggers a step back, eyes wide.

Gwen realizes that the shadow in them is fear.

"Excuse me, your Majesty?"

A young serving girl speaks up from behind, making all three of them jump. She curtsies when they turn to her.

"Lord Bayard has requested an audience. He awaits your convenience in the council chambers."

With an audible swallow, Morgana forces a smile. "Thank you, Amelia."

Amelia leaves as swiftly as she arrived. Morgana follows close on her heels, without looking either of them in the eye. Gwen stays behind, and reaches for Arthur's hand.

"I didn't know," he says softly. "I didn't know."

Gwen nods. "I know."

Arthur has never been a particularly skilled obfuscator. His thoughts and emotions played readily on his face, and this time is no different. His eyes shine with tears, and his throat clicks as he swallows.

"He says he chose me," he murmurs. "He chose me."

Bright eyes meet Gwen's, and in them she sees the helplessness of knowing he could have helped, if only he'd known.

"Who ever chose Morgana?"

Later that night, Morgana drifts to Arthur's quarters. He's been his old chambers ever since they cleared out the borderlands, and if not for the heavy weight of emotion pressing against her sternum, Morgana could almost imagine they were still children-- that the intervening years never happened.

But when she knocks on his open door, Arthur bolts upright from his desk, the guilt in his eyes leaves no room for wistful imagination. He waits, allowing her to speak first.

It takes longer than she's proud of, to find the words she needs.

"Gwen told you."

"Don't be angry with her," Arthur says in a low voice. "I hounded her."

Morgana's lips pull involuntarily, and she has to bite them together to keep from letting him see. Her breath shakes when she inhales, and she twists her fingers together to hide their tremble.

"I didn't know, Morgana--"

"I hated you. For so long. Because of what you meant to Uther, because it felt as though I fought every day just to survive, while you... you were forgiven every transgression." She squeezes her eyes shut against the tears.

"And I think--" her voice catches. "I think a part of me always wondered if you had... that you had known. Or even ordered him to it--"

"Never!" Arthur steps towards, and this time Morgana doesn't flinch. "I would never-- I didn't know. Please, Morgana... please believe that."

His arms wrap around her before even he seems to realize what he's doing. He always was impulsive. But he doesn't pull away. Morgana's chest clenches, and Morgause's voice in her ear warns her not to trust it, warns her to cling to her precious rage and her fortified walls and shove him away.

But then, louder, she hears the echo of Kara Zorel.

"You always have a choice. It just... has to start somewhere."

Morgana's arms wrap around her brother, and holds tight.

She lets go.

A week later, Morgana comes to Arthur again. This time, with a sheaf of heavy parchment in her hand. She dumps it on his desk in front of him, and Arthur has to fight to keep the smile from his face.

He hasn't spoken to Merlin since that night, but in its place his relationship with Morgana had rekindled-- along with all the childish petulance he remembers.

Only for Arthur-- only between them.

"And what's this?" he asks, sitting back in his seat.

"You could read it, you know," she fires back.

"Or you could just tell me."

Morgana arches a single brow, and softens into a languid smirk.

"I wish to make you my heir."

Arthur's ears hollow out for several long moments.

"Excuse me?"

"I wish to make you my heir."

"No, I heard that part. I just missed the part where you lost your mind." He leans forward in his seat. "You do remember you stole the throne from me, don't you ?"

"And here I'm promising to give it back... eventually."

"What's to say I won't just take it when you're not looking?"

Morgana purses her lips, entirely unconcerned. "And spark another civil war? We're just getting over the last one..."

Finally, Arthur allows himself to break into a grin. "Why?"

For moment it seems Morgana doesn't seem willing to share. But then she relents with a huff. "Apparently my lack of progeny has prospective allies concerned that a relationship with Camelot won't survive my reign. Bayard has informed me a marriage would do well to assuage them, but I'm not interested in tethering myself to whatever sycophant the court approves of, so--"

Dark eyebrows shrug, and she tilts her head expectantly.

Despite his smile, there's a kernel of desire in his teasing. Part of him wants the throne, badly enough to consider taking it by force. He was born for it, raised from birth to be king. It should be his. He is the rightful king.

He's just not the right king.

Perhaps, once upon a time, he would have been. When his father died and the land was in turmoil, Arthur's experience on the battlefield would have made him the perfect king to bring the kingdom back under control.

Now, though... Camelot prospers under Morgana. Her hands had gentled on the reins, allowing the kingdom room to breathe and change and grow. She's enacted social programs that Arthur never would have even thought of.

However she came to throne, Morgana is the ruler that Camelot needs now.

And Arthur?

King or no, he was born to serve Camelot.

"I accept."