Author: brickroad16
Title: kaleidoscope
Rating: PG/K
Characters/Pairings: Merlin/Morgana, slight Gwen/Arthur; Uther, Aglain, Alice
Summary: When Arthur invites his new girlfriend home for Christmas, she brings along a friend who catches the eye of his sister, who needs a little guidance in how to properly celebrate the holiday.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. I'm just having fun.
A/N: Merry Christmas and happy holidays! I can't seem to stay away from Christmas fics.

Reviews are lovely and always appreciated. :)

If you're a Merlin/Morgana fan, be sure to check out my WIP, This Night is Flawless: s/8108109/1/This-Night-is-Flawless.

Show me your fears, show me your scars,
I'll take whatever's left of your heart
Give me heaven, give me hell,
All the dreams you try to sell,
I want your fears, your hopes,
The whole kaleidoscope

With you, with you
Our colors come alive when I collide

- "Kaleidoscope," The Script

"Morgana! Come down!"

Morgana sets her book on the nightstand, rolls off of her bed, and runs a hand through her messy hair to make herself presentable. She emerges from her bedroom and looks over the banister to see Uther at the bottom of the winding staircase, standing in the foyer, ready to welcome her brother and his new girlfriend. She hasn't heard much about her, but Arthur doesn't often bring girls back to the house, especially not for Christmas. The significance and uncommonness of the event don't seem to have affected Uther, but if this girl is half as amazing as Arthur makes her out to be, she's determined to make a good impression. And she's bringing a friend, too, which means she'll have to be on her very best behavior. Wouldn't want to embarrass her little brother, now, would she?

She hears Arthur's Porsche 911 drive up just as she hops down the last step, and she sidles up beside Uther and plasters a bright, welcoming smile on her face as the front door opens.

Her brother greets Uther and introduces him to the woman holding onto his hand, giving her a moment to study the couple. She's pretty is her first thought. She has dark skin, beautiful, black, curly hair, and warm brown eyes. But she's more than that, too. Arthur's had a number of pretty girlfriends, but this girl seems happy, kind, shy, and she puts a grin on her brother's face like she hasn't seen in ages.

"Morgana," Arthur greets with a laugh, pulling her into a tight hug. "How are you?"

"Lovely," she replies, her voice muffled in his shoulder. "Nice of you to grace us with your presence."

"I promise," he says as he pulls away, "when I graduate in the spring, you won't be able to get rid of me." He gives his companion a gentle tug forward. "Morgana, this is Guinevere. Guinevere, this is my annoying and maddening but always caring elder sister, Morgana."

"Nice to meet you. You can call me Gwen," the girl smiles.

Morgana shakes her hand. "Hello. Nice to meet you, as well. Where's your friend?"

"Oh, coming tomorrow on the train."

Arthur adds, "Don't worry. We're sending a car." He turns to Gwen and pulls her toward the hall. "Come on. I'll show you the house."

"Okay," says Gwen. She looks back at Morgana. "See you later?"

"Sure," Morgana nods. "We're still picking out a tree this afternoon, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," he assures her, already in the doorway, "after the tour and lunch. See you in a bit."

"How about this one?" Arthur holds out his arms to indicate a tiny, spindly evergreen, missing half its needles.

Gwen chuckles, her breath mushrooming in front of her face. "You're joking, right?"

"I'm afraid not," Morgana says with a laugh. "Ever since Arthur read A Charlie Brown Christmas when he was seven years old, he always insists on picking out the skimpiest tree."

"Not skimpiest. Least loved, he protests. "Besides, you used to read that to me. Don't you remember?"

"'Course I do," she mumbles, feeling her cheeks turn pink.

"My sister," Arthur says, turning to Gwen with a wide grin, "used to read to me and tell me stories to get me to fall asleep. It's her fault I'm as cultured as I am today. And now she introduces all the village children to Dr. Seuss and Greek mythology and Aesop's fables."

Gwen looks at her. "Oh? Arthur didn't tell me you were a teacher."

"I'm not. I own a bookshop in town. We do kids' storytimes once a week."

"Oh, that's so wonderful."

"Thank you." She flicks a sparkling gaze at her brother. "I see Arthur's mentioned me a lot."

Arthur shakes his head. "Oh, come on. I've been a little distracted."

"Yes, I see how it is. Blame it on poor, innocent, sweet Gwen."

"Well," begins Gwen, smiling warmly, "I'm very glad we can get to know each other now."

"Me, too."

"Ooh! Ooh!" Arthur exclaims from a few meters away. "How about this one?"

It's even spindlier than his first choice, and both Morgana and Gwen burst out into loud laughter.

The December air is crisp as Morgana flips the 'Be Back After Lunch' sign on the door and steps out into the street. She inhales a deep lungful of it to clear her mind. The village may be small, and staying here may not be Arthur's wish for her, but it's charming in its quiet way, and she enjoys her life here. Tucking her book under her arm, she carefully maneuvers across the street toward the local hangout, The Green Knight.

She must be paying too much attention to keeping her balance on the ice, because, instead of landing on the opposite sidewalk, she runs smack into a solid body. She falls flat onto her bum with a grunt, cold snow and ice soaking through her jeans and the book flying from the crook of her arm.

"Oh, my God," a male voice mutters hastily. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I'm terribly sorry. Are you all right?"

A shadow appears above her and blocks out the sun, and when her eyes adjust, she can see it's a man, the owner of the voice. Messy dark hair sticks out of his knit cap, the right side of his coat is covered in snow, and his chin is covered in at least two days' worth of stubble. Still, he holds out his hand to her.

"Are you all right?" he repeats. "Let me help you. Please, I'm so sorry."

"Oh, I'm, I'm fine," she stammers, accepting his hand.

He gently pulls her to her feet and starts to brush the snow off her arms before realizing what he's doing, stopping abruptly, and pulling his hands away.

"I'm such an oaf."

"I'm fine, really."

"But I feel rotten. Can I –" He suddenly spots the book she dropped and veers off to pick it up and return it to her. "Can I make it up to you?"

She brushes off the dampened pages and looks up at him, standing there sheepishly, his cheeks tinged with cold, and she has a sudden desire to get to know him. Or at least to not let him slip out of her life so quickly.

She tilts her head toward the pub. "I was just about to have lunch. Care to join me?"

"Yeah," he grins. "Yeah, I'd love to."

It's only then that she notices the duffel and knapsack lying on the sidewalk. He picks them up as she leads the way.

"Here for the holidays?" she asks.

He nods. "Yep. Just came in on the train for the week."

"Well," she says as she leads him inside to a table and helps him maneuver his bags into the space under the table and between their feet, "welcome to our tiny, snowy corner of the earth."

She takes off her coat and scarf and plops into the booth.

"Yes, quite icy, isn't it?" he chuckles as he removes his jacket and settles into the seat across from her. "Again, can I just say how sorry I am? I got distracted by this bookshop across the way. Wasn't paying attention to where I was going."

"In that case, I think I can forgive you," she smiles. Off his look, she explains, "I own that shop."

He hides his face in his hands. Voice muffled, he says, "Guess I won't be getting discounts anytime soon, will I?"

She opens her mouth to reply, but his hands catch her eye. The tips of his fingers are covered in ink stains. He picks his head up, notices her gaze, and glances at his hands.

Holding them toward her for closer inspection, he says, "Oh, the downside of being an illustrator."

"You're an illustrator?"

He nods. "Comic books mostly, but I dabble in children's books. I'd like to do more of those."

She regards him quietly, wondering where on earth he came from. Clumsy, quirky, interesting, kind – men like that don't simply drop into her life every day. There's something about him, about his crooked smile or about the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, that brings a smile to her face, that makes her want to know him better.

"I'm so sorry," she says, shaking herself out of her stupor and reaching her hand out to him. "I'm Morgana. Pleased to meet you."

"Merlin. Likewise, though I wish it didn't have to involve me bodily running into you," he chuckles.

"You can stop apologizing, you know."

"Maybe I'll just change the form of the apology. What are you drinking?"

"Just a water."

"All right, then." He goes off to the bar to place their drink and food orders and returns quickly.

Settling into her seat, she says, "I've never met an illustrator."

His eyes sparkle as he smiles. "We're not that exciting of a breed. I assure you."

"Neither are booksellers."

"No! That's very cool. Very admirable."

"Tell that to my brother."

"What, he doesn't approve?"

"Not exactly."

"Well, you're happy, aren't you?" he asks.

"It's a quiet life, but it suits me. But it's not what anyone expected of me. I can say that for sure."

"Then how can he ask for anything more?" he shrugs.

He asks it as if it's the simplest question in the world, as if there's no other answer to consider. She imagines how different their lives must have been in order for them to arrive at two vastly different outlooks, but she's grateful that they've somehow managed to cross paths.

A waitress brings their drinks, and he reaches for an extra napkin and takes a pen out of his pocket.

He begins inking out a design and says, "Well, for whatever it's worth, I happen to think it's very cool."

"But you're an illustrator."

He quirks a brow. "So?"

"We're basically in the same field. We're wired to love being around books. You can't tell me that, deep down, you didn't think about owning a bookstore one day, exploring its nooks, taking care of the stories, introducing inquisitive kids to your favorites."

He takes a sip of tea and grins. "Fine. You're right. My uncle gave me Treasure Island when I was six, and I've always thought there's a magic in libraries and bookshops that doesn't exist anywhere else."

"I agree," she smiles.

"Here," he says, and he slides the napkin toward her so that she can see an inked drawing of a lion with glasses reclining in a chair and reading a book. It's an update of the sign currently hanging outside the door across the street. Not cute exactly, but whimsical, holding promise of magical worlds inside just waiting to be explored.

"Wow," she breathes, wondering if she could ask him for proper use of the image.

He's a perfect gentleman throughout, insisting on paying for their meal at the end, but more than that, making conversation with him makes her come out of herself. She's had her fair share of boyfriends and boy toys, but in the end, they never meant much. Uther had always said she took after her mother in that respect: beautiful but distant. One felt as though they could never get within an arm's length.

Merlin, though, makes her laugh, and he makes her forget about whatever silly troubles she's having in her life, and she decides that, even if it had taken a painful encounter, she's glad she's not eating alone today.

"So, Morgana . . ." he begins hesitantly as they stand awkwardly on the sidewalk. His breath fogs in the cold air.

"Thank you for lunch."

He shrugs as best as he can with two bags weighing down his shoulders. "It was the least I can do, and I mean that." He shuffles from foot to foot, very interested in his tenners, but then he looks up, looks directly into her eyes, and she can see that his are a warm, welcoming shade of blue. "Can I see you again?"

She makes a show of pulling on her gloves even though they both know she's only crossing the street. She's used to the tables being turned, to the boys being so shy around her that she's forced to make the first move, but having gotten over the initial hurdle, Merlin seems comfortable with her. And isn't she comfortable with him?

She takes a deep breath and replies, "You know where to find me."

She gives him a smile, turns around, and walks away before he can respond.

When she's on the opposite sidewalk, he calls, "I hope you know I'm taking that as an invitation!"

His cheekiness brings out her flirty side, and she turns around to give him a silly little curtsey. "Take it however you choose, but I won't be responsible for mistaken notions."

He only laughs, and she disappears into the shop. Once inside, she sneaks a peek through the window to see that he's still standing there, watching her with an enchanted smile on his face, before he shakes his head and walks off, still smiling.

And Morgana, an unfamiliar fuzzy feeling growing in her chest, gets back to work.

The first sound Morgana hears as she steps through the front door is laughter. Not the quite, muted kind that marks Uther's gatherings, but a hearty, cherished sound, the kind you hear among close friends with old stories and inside jokes. Gwen's friend must have arrived. She makes her way toward the voices and into the parlor but, only a few feet into the room, stops abruptly when she sees him by the tree.

It's him, the boy from this afternoon, hanging ornaments on the half-decorated Christmas tree and joking with Arthur and Gwen. He's dressed in a red plaid shirt, black jumper, and jeans, and his hair is a tad less messy, like he's at least run his fingers through it.

"You," she says, and three pairs of eyes swivel to look at her.

"Morgana!" exclaims Arthur.

Merlin's face crinkles into a grin, and he says softly, "It's you."

Their gazes stay locked until Gwen comes forward and says, "Morgana, I'm so glad you two are finally able to meet. This is my very best mate, Merlin. Merlin, this is Arthur's sister, Morgana."

Morgana stares stupidly and mutters, "But I thought . . ."

"We've met, actually," Merlin chuckles.

"He's your friend? But I thought it'd be a girl. I was expecting a girl."

Gwen and Merlin exchange a glance while Arthur throws his head back and laughs. "Why would you assume that?" he asks mirthfully. "I suppose we never actually said, though."

Gwen levels a suspicious gaze at her friend. "You've met?"

Merlin flushes. "Yes, we . . . ran into each other in the village earlier."

"Literally," adds Morgana, though neither Gwen nor Arthur takes heed.

"Well, come on, then," Arthur urges as he holds out a red bulb toward her. "You're here, so you've got to help."

Sighing, she takes the proffered ornament. "You know me and Christmas."

"Ah, yes," he says with a laugh. "One drink coming right up. Gwen, you want anything?"

The younger woman's gaze flickers between Merlin and Morgana. Then she says, "I'll just come with you."

"Um, okay."

The two of them depart, leaving Morgana alone with Merlin, who smiles at her dopily like being with her is all he could wish for at this moment.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asks immediately, lowering her voice to make sure Arthur and Gwen don't overhear.

He shakes his head slightly, not understanding. "Uh . . . How could I have guessed you'd turn out to be the sister of my best friend's boyfriend?"

A frown darkening her face, she turns away from him and hangs the bulb on the tree. "Fine."

He moves closer to her. "Are you saying this changes things?"

She busies herself by rooting through the boxes for another suitable ornament to hang up. "I was just . . . surprised. That's all."

"Do you want to know how I see it?"

"How?"

"I think it's fortuitous. Here I've been trying to come up with excuses to get away some time tomorrow so I could go see you, and instead I find I don't have to go out of my way at all."

And maybe that's the fundamental difference between us, your optimism and my realism, she thinks. Maybe that's what will ultimately drive them apart. She can see it now, see how they will push against each other until one or the other snaps.

He inches closer until his face is in her peripheral vision, close enough for her to see his smile and smell a kind of musky, wintry aroma that has nothing to do with the evergreen in front of her.

His voice is soft, searching, as he probes, "Or did I only imagine the connection between us?"

She turns to find him gazing at her with those calm blue eyes of his. Her palms are suddenly more moist than normal, and she wipes them on her jeans as she considers his question. Finally, she shakes her head.

A grin splits his face. "Okay, then."

But before he can say more, Arthur and Gwen return, and the two of them quickly return to decorating.

"Here you are, Morgana," says Arthur. Without any prompting, he explains to Gwen and Merlin, "Morgana's never been a big holiday person. Our joke is that she can't get through them unless she's very well liquidated."

"Thank you, Arthur," Morgana cuts in as she accepts the drink, "for giving our guests such a lovely impression of me."

Merlin frowns. "You don't like Christmas?"

"It's just . . . not a big deal in our house."

"Oh."

He slips into a pensive mood for the next ten or so minutes, but he recovers quickly enough once the conversation picks up. Arthur kneels to light a fire in the hearth, and Morgana welcomes the heat that seeps into her bones.

"I was working the late shift at the student clinic our very first semester," Gwen's saying, and Morgana wonders how much of the story she's missed so far, "when this kid stumbled in –" She indicates Merlin. "- his forehead gushing blood, because he'd tripped over his own feet."

"It was dark!" protests Merlin. "That sidewalk still needs better lighting."

"Saying it more won't make it true," Arthur laughs.

Merlin chuckles quietly, shaking his head as he lifts a miniature nutcracker onto a branch.

"Anyways," continues Gwen, "I cleaned him up, but we ended up chatting the whole night. Do you remember that?"

"Yes," muses Merlin, "though I think it was partially because you wanted to make sure I didn't have a concussion."

"Well, that, but also because I'd never met anyone so easy to talk to." She turns to Morgana, who has been occupying herself with untangling a garland. "His mother likes to say his gift for conversation is akin to magic. I swear he can make anyone like him within two seconds of opening his mouth."

"Says the woman who has more friends than Mark Zuckerberg and a better bedside manner than Mother Theresa," Merlin teases.

Morgana smiles, because she can imagine it, imagine two such lovely people crossing paths and being so drawn to each other's kind nature that they've been inseparable since. She's never had a friend like that. Unless you count Arthur, of course, and maybe she does, because he's really the only being on this planet she truly loves, despite how blockheaded he can be on occasion.

Arthur flicks a hand between his girlfriend and her friend. "I'm sorry. Do you two want some privacy?"

The room fills up with laughter once more, and Morgana, feeling a glow spreading throughout her veins and creeping toward the hollow spot in her chest, decides that maybe their presence will brighten up this dreary old house for the holidays like no one else's can.

Morgana looks up as the bell above the door jingles, but her breath catches in her throat when she sees who it is. Merlin grins at her as he removes his knit cap and approaches the desk. She'd sneaked out of the house before the rest of the gang had woken up, but he's shaved, and it appears that he's even attempted to comb his hair.

"Afternoon," he breathes, shaking the cold from him.

"Hi," she greets, unable to help the smile that crosses her face. "What are you doing here?"

He leans on the counter. "We're going sledding. Thought you may want to join us."

"I'm working."

"Yeah, but . . ." He looks around, searching the store for any sign of life that isn't a customer. "Isn't there anyone else? Don't you have an employee you could leave in charge for an hour?" When she balks, he adds, "Come on, Morgana. When's the last time you've truly had fun?"

She looks around the store. It's busy for a small bookshop, about a dozen customers milling about, but nothing unusual for a couple days before the holiday and certainly nothing Aglain can't handle. Just as she's about to reply, Aglain walks out of the back room, a stack of books in his arms as he heads toward her. She shakes her head the barest amount, but he simply narrows his eyes questioningly.

"Hullo," he greets cheerfully, setting down his burden and holding out his hand toward Merlin.

Straightening, Merlin takes it and shakes it. "Hi, there. I'm Merlin, a friend of Morgana's."

"Oh?" Aglain lifts an eyebrow in amusement. "Morgana doesn't bring many friends around here. In that case, glad to meet you. I'm Aglain. I'm technically the assistant manager, but Morgana runs this ship so tightly, I barely have anything to do."

"Then perhaps you'd like to go sledding with us. I'm starting to think she doesn't understand the meaning of a holiday."

She scoffs lightly. "I'm right here."

Aglain draws himself up to his full height and crosses his arms against his chest. "What's this now?" he asks, looking down at her. It's meant to be intimidating, but he's such a gentle soul but he reminds her instead of a kindly uncle looking after his favorite niece. "Why on earth should you be refusing this nice young man?"

A smile tugs at her lips, but she fights it and shoots him a glare. "Because we're quite busy, Aglain, in case you haven't noticed."

He slips back into his normal mode, saying, "Morgana, please, go have fun. I can take care of the shop."

"I know . . ."

Their gazes flicker towards Merlin, who's been listening, but off their looks, he moves away a few paces, picks up a paperback, and busies himself with reading the back cover.

Aglain takes her elbow and, in a low voice, says, "My dear, what have I always told you about not taking opportunities when they come to you?" He smiles because he says it so much that neither of them could forget. He's always trying to father her, maybe because he knows she needs it. "It's only sledding."

She sighs. He's right. She doesn't have to make such a big deal of things. It's just that Merlin seems to have a way of getting too close too fast. She'll go out with them and have fun, but she'll do as she always does: safeguard her heart.

"Fine," she says, loudly enough for Merlin to hear. "Fine, I'll go."

And his face breaks out into that lopsided grin of his which is quickly becoming so familiar to her.

The chill in the air gives her a momentary shock as they step outside, but she jams her hands in her coat pockets and soldiers on. "So, where are Arthur and Gwen?" she asks.

"They're waiting on the hill." He stops and looks around. "Uh . . . Sorry, I thought I was paying better attention."

"The hill behind the school?"

"Yeah."

She tilts her head in the direction they had been going. "Don't worry. I know where to go."

"Oh, good."

They continue walking, and Morgana takes note of the decorations and strands of lights throughout the village, ready for the annual light-up night, when shopkeepers and homeowners alike brought out their most extravagant adornments in order to illuminate the little town. Arthur likes to go, and she lets him drag her along, if only for the mulled wine Alice will have available at outside her seamstress's shop.

After a few blocks, he asks, "So, you really don't like Christmas?"

"It's just never been a big thing with Uther," she answers with a shrug.

"Uther?"

She looks at the snow-covered path beneath their feet, debating how much to tell him. She settles for, "Arthur and I are only half-siblings."

"Oh. So Uther is your . . ."

"Father. Arthur's, too."

She leaves it at that, and he nods like he understands even if she's giving him very little to go on. Fortunately, they reach the hill only a minute later. Arthur and Gwen are at the top, and she can see by the tracks that they've already ridden down a couple times.

"You ever done this before?" Merlin queries cheekily as they hike up the hill.

"Of course. I was a kid at one time, you know."

"Well, that's good to hear. I was beginning to think you'd just popped out fully grown, no sense of humor and all." And he bumps her in the shoulder just to make sure she knows he's teasing.

"So you think I can't have fun?"

His mouth opens and closes as he backpedals. "That's not exactly what I said."

"Fine. Last one to the top has to pull the sled up."

"What?"

"You heard me. Go!"

She takes off running, looking over her shoulder to catch the surprised look on his face as he registers her words then recovers and sprints after her.

"No fair!" he shouts, but she can hear the grin in his voice.

She makes it to the top and lifts her arms in the air in a playful victory dance, but he's only a few strides behind her. Arthur and Gwen stand a few feet away, both laughing.

"Looks like you'll be on sled-pulling duty this afternoon," she teases.

He gives a mock bow. "As my lady commands."

"All right, you two, stop flirting" says Arthur with a wicked gleam in his eye. "Fancy a race?"

She's sure Arthur could have scrounged up more than two sleds, but she finds that she doesn't mind as much as she originally thought she would once Merlin slides behind her. She can't remember the last time she's done this, but his body is warm behind hers, and when he slides his arms around her waist, it's a comforting kind of closeness. Instead of shying away like she typically does, she keeps silent and tells herself there's nowhere to go in a sled this size.

"You ready?" he murmurs in her ear, and she fights a blush as she nods.

"One the count of three?" Gwen suggests.

Arthur starts the count off. "One," he bellows.

"Two," shouts Merlin, twisting so his voice isn't right in her ear.

"Three!" finishes Gwen.

She and Merlin push off, furiously kicking at the snow, at the same time Arthur and Gwen do, and in a few seconds, they're racing down the hillside, wind rushing in their faces. She hears Merlin's laugh in her ear, feels his breath on her cheek, and a floaty feeling rises in her chest.

But this plastic contraption is built for fun, not safety in particular. No matter which way she pulls the reins, it doesn't seem to influence their direction at all, which is how the two sleds come to be dangerously close together.

"What are you doing?" Arthur shouts laughingly to her. "You're going to make us crash!"

"Yeah? You try driving these things!" Merlin shouts right back as he leans hard to the left to try to influence their path.

But it does no good. The two sleds are racing closer and closer by the foot.

"Bail!" Gwen finally shouts. "We're going to crash!"

Morgana and Merlin topple out of their sled to the left and Gwen and Arthur to the right of theirs. Both couples land in heaps in the snow. Morgana, despite doing her solid best to not roll on top of Merlin, ends up beside him with their legs tangled together. Her throat feels strangely dry, but he's laughing, seemingly unconcerned over their closeness. She moves to get up before the snow soaks through her jeans, but he scrambles to his feet and offers her a hand. Their eyes meet, and it takes her a moment to realize that their gloved hands stay latched for a bit longer than necessary.

"You cheated!" Arthur accuses with a laugh, breaking the spell.

"I don't think it counts as a win," Morgana retorts, "when we both have to jump out."

"Yes, but we only jumped because you were crashing into us."

Merlin shakes his head. "No. You were crashing into us."

Arthur comes over to playfully punch him in the shoulder. "You need to get your eyes checked, mate. We were definitely winning before you ran into us."

"Oh, stop being so silly," Gwen says cheerfully. "It's no matter." And she leads the charge up the hill.

Later, when they've run tracks into the hill and the exhaustion has seeped into their bones, they start to head back. Merlin grabs ahold of the sled rope to pull it behind them and sidles up alongside her. Once they trudge through the hill and emerge into the main street, their hands someone find each other again. Arthur and Gwen, walking in front of them, don't notice. She looks up at Merlin, who only quirks a smile as they continue on their way.

The gang drops her off at the bookshop, where Merlin asks, "Will you be at the festival tonight? Should we swing by to pick you up when we pass by?"

"Thanks, but I'll head back to the house for dinner and walk down with you three."

"Oh, good. Okay. See you later, then."

"Yeah, see you later." Before he can get too far off, she adds, "And thanks. For making me come along. I had fun."

He grins. "I'm glad."

When she walks inside, a burst of warmth hits her. Aglain is with a customer at the counter, but he still has time to spare her a knowing look. She rolls her eyes and turns away to hang up her coat. After all, there's no sense in giving him the satisfaction of being right, is there?

A soft knock sounds at her bedroom door. Morgana looks up to find Gwen hovering in the doorway, a soft smile on her pretty face.

"Oh, hey," she greets, waving her in. "Come on in."

"Oh, Arthur sent me to see if you were ready."

"Yeah, just about."

Gwen ambles into the room, casting her eyes about curiously. Morgana chuckles. Just as she's been stuck in low gear in the past four or five years, this room hasn't changed a lick, either. The bed duvet is black with silver swirls, and the white walls are bare save for a few black and white prints from her arty phase.

"Not very exciting, I'm afraid," she says.

"No, it's elegant, very you."

"How very diplomatic of you," teases Morgana before turning back to her closet to forage for a belt.

Gwen sinks softly onto the bed. Morgana plucks out two belts, a wide brown one and a thinner silver one, and turns to hold them up to her new friend, who is staring with interest at a framed photo of her and her brother that sits on the bedside table. She lowers her hands, recalling the moment it was taken. They'd both been in high school then, silly teenagers who relied on each other for everything, who maybe still do. It was after one of his football matches, one of many in which he'd been the hero and scored the thrilling winning goal, and yet she'd been the first one he'd wanted to celebrate with. He'd thrown his arms around her and spun her about, and then she'd snapped a self-photo when they were still grinning with glee. He's sweaty, and his blond hair is plastered to his forehead, but he's joyful. In fact, these past couple days with Gwen have been the only time she's seen him as happy as he gets after winning a match.

"That was years ago," she tells Gwen nostalgically.

"You both look happy."

"He'd just won a big football match." She stares at it quietly for another moment, then adds, "Arthur's . . . the one person I care for more than anybody."

Gwen smiles gently. "I know. I can see it." She fidgets a bit and says, "You know, he really did talk about you a lot. Made me nervous to meet you."

"He talked about you too, and you've turned out to be just as kind and amazing as he reported."

"Thank you," the younger woman replies, her eyes downcast. She looks up and says, "I'm really glad we've met. I think, even without Arthur, we'd be friends."

"I think so, too."

Gwen sighs contentedly. Noticing the belts in Morgana's hands, she asks, "Which one are you wearing?"

"I was hoping you'd help me decide." She holds them up in turn. "Brown or silver?"

Gwen studies her, then says definitively, "Brown. It'll match your boots, and I think it'll help bring out your eyes."

Morgana, blushing, avoids her gaze as she puts on the belt. "And why would I want to do that?"

Gwen chuckles. "I know Merlin better than anyone. He doesn't go gaga over girls this quickly."

She looks up sharply. "What makes you think he likes me?"

Gwen lifts an eyebrow in disbelief. "Only everything he does. Why? Do you like him back?"

Morgana shrugs nonchalantly. "I haven't given it much thought."

"Of course you haven't," laughs Gwen.

"What?" she asks, unable to keep a smile from her lips. She's unused to being teased about boys, but she thinks she'll like having a girlfriend to talk about this sort of confusing stuff with.

"He's a sweet guy. I can vouch for his character, if that's what you're worried about."

"No," she insists with a quick shake of her head. "It's not him. It's just . . ."

"Relationships suck?"

Morgana chuckles as she secures the belt buckle. "Yeah, something like that."

"Well," says Gwen, sobering, "if you ever start to think differently, I know Merlin you can count on Merlin." She stands up and holds out her arms. "Now, are you ready?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah."

They walk out into the hallway together. At the top of the steps, Morgana pauses, her hand on the railing, and says, "Gwen."

Gwen, standing a few steps down, turns.

"Thank you."

Gwen smiles broadly, laughs, and waves her hand. "Well, come on, then. We don't want to miss the festival, do we?"

The boys are already waiting for them outside. Arthur and Gwen quickly latch arms as the four walk off toward the village, leaving Morgana to fall in beside Merlin.

"Hi," he says, his breath fogging in the night air. "You look nice."

She chuckles. "How can you tell, with my coat?" He shrugs, smiling, and she adds, "But thanks."

"Can I say that I like your hair?" he asks, eyes twinkling.

She'd tossed on a knit cap to fight the cold, but she'd also taken the time to curl her hair, and now it sticks out from beneath the hat. "Yes," she nods. "I believe that's acceptable."

"Good. I'm glad you could come."

"Aglain likes to do things like this, but I'll have to stop in the shop for at least a little while."

"Then maybe I could stop in with you. Or bring you some hot cocoa."

Her hesitation is brief before she replies, "Yeah. That'd be nice."

And then, just like that afternoon, their hands find each other again. It's a comforting feeling, one she's not used to, but as the streets become more populated as they get closer to the town, she remembers why she's so unused to it. Because this isn't what she does, meet a boy and fall into a crush and blush at his every syllable. She's the kind to date around, but even then, she never flaunted her flavor of the week. She'd always been proud of her independence, of her singlehood. Which all would explain the bristly, uncomfortable tingle that starts to run through her when they move into the thicker crowds. And Morgana, ever the unsure, fearful girl she's tried so hard to grow out of, drops Merlin's hand.

He looks at her but only says, "So, what do you recommend? This is my first experience with your village's Christmas traditions. I need a guide."

"Well . . ." She looks around. "Dragoon's Confectionary has delicious toffee apples. The tavern has specials on holiday-themed food. Alice always has spiced wine available at her seamstress shop. Um, there are carols and performances in the square, specials at most of the shops." She shrugs. "We usually just walk up and down and hit whatever strikes our fancy."

He nods to indicate his approval of the usual plan, and, as Arthur and Gwen are in front of them, they follow their lead, stopping for some fresh fudge and then to listen for a bit to the school choir sing carols. Merlin's quiet, but she thinks it's the good kind of quiet that happens upon you when you're taking things in for the first time.

As the kids finish "In the Bleak Midwinter" and the crowd applauds, he looks to her with a smile and asks, "Did you do this when you were in school?"

"And if I did?"

"I'm only trying to get a sense of your childhood, what made you you."

"Oh? And what you can tease me about, as well?"

The strains of "I'll Be Home for Christmas" fill the air.

Merlin chuckles lightly. "It's called 'small talk.' And just to show you I'm genuine, I will tell you that my mom still knits me Christmas sweaters every year. And I still wear them."

Laughing, she says, "I hope you brought last year's to share with us."

"Oh, of course. No one escapes the Christmas sweaters. The only thing I regret, though, is that they're so awesome I can't even wear them without making everyone around me jealous."

"I think I'll have to see it before I decide I'm that envious."

"No, you will be. But don't worry. Stick around long enough, and she'll make you one of your own."

He bumps her in the shoulder and shoots her a cheeky grin. She rolls her eyes. After a couple more songs, the four continue on, making their way toward Alice's store. The Pendragon siblings have known Alice since they were children. She's the talkative old woman who is kind to people of all ages and all walks of life. She'd always had a smile and some sweets for them as they were growing up, had even taught Morgana how to sew when she was a teenager. If she's a little too old to be a surrogate mother to them, then she's an aunt, a grandmother. Whatever the label, she's always had a special eye for the two of them.

They find Alice where she always in on this night, sitting in front of her shop at a small table with a carafe of spiced wine.

"Hullo, Alice," greets Arthur, stooping down to kiss her on the cheek.

"Oh, Arthur, Morgana," Alice says happily, "how nice to see you."

Smiling, Morgana leans down to hug her and says, "It's good to see you, too."

Arthur holds out a hand to Gwen. "Alice, I'd like you to meet my girlfriend, Guinevere. Guinevere, this is Alice. She's a dear friend of the family, practically raised Morgana and me."

"It's lovely to meet you," greets Gwen with one of her signature smiles.

"And you, my dear," Alice beams. She turns to Morgana. "And is this your new beau, Morgana?"

She asks so kindly and they have such a history that Morgana can't get irritated with her. Still, she answers quickly, a little too quickly maybe, "No!"

Merlin shoots her a bemused look and adds, "We're just friends."

Arthur barks out a laugh. When she lifts an eyebrow at him, he says, "You're beneath mistletoe."

She looks up and frowns when she sees the sprig. A great lover of the holiday season, Alice always extensively decorates both the inside and outside of the shop. She should have expected it, should have taken more care.

Merlin, of course, is willing, so she lets him take the lead. He inclines his head toward her, their gazes locked, a smile playing over his lips, and he pecks her on the cheek.

Turning back to Arthur, he holds his arms open and says, "Happy?"

Arthur scoffs. "You can do better than that, man."

Gwen swats him gently on the arm. "Arthur, leave them alone."

"All right, fine," he chuckles. "Sorry, you two."

Morgana claps her gloved hands. "Well! How's the wine tonight, Alice?"

"Now, Morgana, you know it's as delicious as ever," Alice replies.

Chuckling, she says, "All right, then, we'll take four cups, please."

"Coming right up!"

Arthur plays the gentleman and pays for all four drinks. Alice's mulled wine is one of her favorite things in the world, and it can warm her up like nothing else can. Tonight, she's in need of such familiar comfort. They thank Alice and, holding their Styrofoam cups, resume their stroll.

Just as she's walking away, Alice snags her by the sleeve of her coat. She turns around. Alice crooks a finger for her to come closer, and she leans in.

"'Just friends' my arse!" Alice says, quietly enough so no one can overhear.

She gives her a mischievous wink and sends her on her way again.

"Are you not a fan of holiday comedy? Not a fan of Christmas cheer?"

Morgana looks up to see Merlin padding into the kitchen, looking cozy in plaid pajama pants and a sweatshirt.

She indicates her laptop and the ledger she's working on and says, "I just have some work to catch up on."

"It's two days before Christmas. Can't you take a break?"

"Busiest time of the year."

"Right," he says cryptically, as if he doesn't quite believe her but is willing to accept the excuse anyway. He walks past the kitchen table and begins to rummage through the cabinets.

"What are you looking for?"

"Kettle."

"Bottom cabinet to the right of the fridge."

Leaning down, he opens the door. "Ah. Thank you." He fills the kettle and sets it on the stove to boil. Then he comes back to the table and sits down across from her.

She looks up.

He quirks a brow. "Am I bothering you?"

She shakes her head. "But I can't imagine I'm good company."

"Better than being the third wheel in there," he chuckles, jerking his head toward the living room, where the light of the television flickers through the doorway. The sound of the movie is low enough that they can hear Arthur and Gwen's laughter.

No, she wouldn't like to be the odd man out in that situation, either.

He reaches out a hand. "Can I have one?"

"What?"

"A sheet of notebook paper."

"Oh, sure." She rips out a couple pages and slides them over to him.

"Um . . ." He glances around, then shoots her a lopsided smile. "Got an extra pen?"

Shaking her head, she gets up to retrieve one from a kitchen drawer and tosses it to him before retaking her seat. He bends his head and begins doodling immediately. She watches him for a little while, both surprised that she may have a moment's peace even with him in the room and mesmerized by how quickly he's become engrossed in his work. Smiling, she returns her attention to her laptop. They work quietly, with just the soft sounds of the television drifting in from the other room, until the tea kettle goes off and Merlin jumps up to get it. She watches as he takes it off the burner, turns off the stove, takes two Christmas mugs from the cabinet, and turns around.

"Uh, tea?"

She points to a jar sitting on the counter that's decorated with fruit, a remnant of Uther's married days. She sometimes wonders what their childhood would have been like had Arthur's mother lived. By all accounts, she was a compassionate, loving woman. She lets out a long sigh. There's no use dwelling on such things, as she's told Arthur countless times before.

Merlin makes the tea and brings it over to her, placing a mug in front of her. He sits down again but closer this time, reaching for his drawing to set up his work station again. Leaning back in his chair, he picks up the pen and returns to sketching. She takes a sip of tea, pleasantly surprised to find he's used Barry's Red Label, her favorite, a little taste of home.

"What are you drawing?" she asks.

He looks up and shifts the paper a bit so she can have a better view. Chuckling, he answers, "Um, Arthur and Gwen."

She laughs when she sees the sketch. He's depicted them as a royal couple from Britain's golden age. Gwen looks suitably grand, but Arthur has a dopey look on his face, and his crown doesn't fit quite right. "That's good."

"Thank you. You're next."

"Excuse me?"

"What, don't you like being used as a muse?"

"You're not going to turn me into something embarrassing, are you?"

He draws an X over his heart. "Cross my heart."

"Fine." She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling as she returns to her work.

They're quiet again, working on their separate projects, but she can't help wondering why it feels so normal, to sit beside him and be with him even without talking. But it's comfortable, and she doesn't mind the distraction when he slides a new drawing toward her.

It's her, but it's different than the last. She had expected a cartoon, but this one is realistic. He must have used earlier this night as a reference, because he's depicted her with her cap on and her hair in waves. She's smiling softly, her gaze directed to the side. She hadn't even noticed him looking up at her while he drew. She wants to ask how he produced something so lovely with barely any reference, but she can guess the answer, and she's not sure she can handle it.

"Merlin," she begins hesitantly, "it's, it's beautiful."

"Well, a little full of yourself, don't you think?" he teases.

She smacks him playfully on the shoulder. "I meant you have talent. I've never been able to draw."

"Oh, it's not that hard."

"Merlin, this is amazing. I can't do something like that."

He takes a big gulp of tea then scoots his chair closer and takes out a fresh sheet of paper. "Okay, lesson time."

"What? No," she protests, but her laughter gives her away.

Chuckling, Merlin nods. "Yeah. Here we go."

She really is terrible at it, but he insists that she's got a modicum of talent. Before long, they're laughing and doodling and chatting and drinking really, really delicious tea. And losing track of time. And it's past two A.M. when Morgana decides that this new thing of theirs, whatever connection they've discovered, could be a very good thing.

Morgana's nearly out the door when she hears Merlin call, "Wait!" and he appears in the foyer all bundled up with two travel mugs in his hand.

She tilts her head. "Merlin?"

He shrugs and hands her a mug. "Thought I'd walk you to work. Tea?"

Grinning, she takes it and takes a sip. It's just as delicious as the stuff he made last night. She gestures toward the door. "Well, come on, then."

The icy morning air is unpleasant, but the tea warms her up.

"I can't believe you're working on Christmas Eve," he says with a disbelieving shake of his head.

"Relax. It's only a half-day. People have to get last-minute gifts, you know." She bumps him in the shoulder. "I'll be back for lunch."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

The five of them, Uther included, are finally together at one meal. Morgana suspects the subdued atmosphere is due to Uther's presence, but Merlin keeps shooting her amused glances from across the table, so maybe he's not so intimidated by him as she previously thought.

"How are you enjoying your stay?" Uther asks their guests.

"Very well. Thank you," Gwen replies sweetly. "It's a lovely village. Very picturesque."

"Mm, yes," agrees Merlin. "I'm finding out a lot here."

Uther's lips thin. He's unaccustomed to artsy people like Merlin who deal in idealism instead of reality. "Meaning?"

Merlin takes a sip of wine. "Meaning an artist's journey never ends. There is much to be learned everywhere, if only you take the time to open your eyes." He flicks her a smile, and, blushing, she preoccupies herself with her mashed potatoes.

"Hmm." Uther looks down at his plate, a sign that he doesn't wish to discuss this topic any longer. After a bite of chicken, he looks up at Morgana. "I ran into the de Poncys this morning, Morgana."

Her hand freezes, fork in mid-air, but she forces it on its way. Her mouth suddenly dry, she struggles to swallow and has to reach for her wine. "Oh?" she finally chokes out.

"They'll be at the gala this evening, as will Leon."

She frowns. Leon is one of Arthur's old schoolmates, his parents in Uther's moneyed crowd. He's nice enough, she supposes, but she'd always thought him a bit dull, a bit too much of a follower for her to take any interest. And she thinks she knows why now, why all the men she's dated have seemed so inadequate. Because she'd never known what she wanted before and had always gone after the exact wrong thing.

"That's good," she responds noncommittally.

But Uther plows on. "I told them you'd be delighted to keep him company tonight."

She looks up sharply. "What? But –"

"You've never brought a date. Perhaps it's time you did."

Her jaw clenches as latent anger bubbles up inside her. He's pushed her before to date men he approves of, but she's tired of arguing with him, and, with guests at the table, this is not the place for it. Even so, she avoids a certain somebody's eyes as she sighs and says, "Fine," with the least amount of enthusiasm she can muster.

"Very well," he nods.

Abruptly, Merlin stands, setting his napkin down beside his plate. "I'm suddenly not feeling so well," he mutters before striding out of the room.

She bites down an impulse to follow him and instead takes a big slug of wine. Then Arthur nudges her in the leg. She looks over, and he gives her a wide-eyed look that means, Go after him, you clotpole. When she looks across the table, Gwen has a similar, though gentler, expression on her face.

She sets down her glass, clears her throat, and says, "Right. Is it stuffy in here? I'll just pop out for some air," and she's out of the dining room before Uther can protest.

She looks outside first, because this isn't his home and she can't imagine him looking for comfort in these cavernous rooms. She can see him from the balcony, tramping angrily through the snow, stopping every few steps to kick up a bit of it as if the snow were the thing causing him pain. He didn't even stop to grab a jacket before he came out. But then he stops, his shoulders slumping, and collapses onto a bench near the gazebo. Even from this distance, she can tell his expression isn't angry but sad. She wants to say something, but what could she say? Maybe she's right. Maybe they're too different. Even in this one interaction, the cracks are showing. If they could disagree over something so miniscule as a Christmas party, what else could start a row?

With a heavy sigh, she turns and walks back inside.

Arthur's the one to find her. She's lying on her back on her bed, staring absently at the ceiling, and he flops down beside her. For just a second, it's like they're kids again, sharing confidences when they've disappointed their father or making excuses to not finish their schoolwork.

"You didn't talk to him, did you?" he prompts.

She shakes her head. "I'm being an arse, aren't I?"

Her brother lets out a long sigh. "Do you know the day after Guinevere gave me her number, I threw it away?"

"What? Why?"

"Ah, same reason you won't give Merlin a chance, I expect."

"Did we start out this screwed up or did something make us this way?"

He laughs quietly. "How long have you lived with Father? It's just in our genes."

"We're doomed."

He props himself up to look at her. "No," he says, suddenly serious. "I don't think we are. If we were, I never would have gotten Guinevere's number again, would I have?"

She rolls off the bed with a groan and goes to stand by the window. Merlin's still down on the snowy grounds, but Gwen's joined him now, and she's brought him a jacket. They're huddled together on the bench, talking. She wheels around and asks, "Why?"

He sits up, frowning. "Because I figured out that the fear of missing out on something great was suddenly bigger than the fear of it not working out."

She crosses her arms. When did Arthur become the wise one? She's seen how he is with Gwen, seen how happy he is and how much he wants this to work. And if she knows her brother at all, if he wants it to work, he's going to put everything he's got into it.

She bites her lip. "But what if he's no different?"

His voice is soft when he says, "You can't keep thinking like that. I don't want to see you end up . . . bitter."

How could she be anything but? How, after the way Uther had treated her mother, after he'd gotten her pregnant and left without a word? She's grown up with this horrible feeling that all men are as callous. But what of the man she called 'father'? Hadn't she seen his example, as well, and hadn't it been the exact opposite? He had been caring, compassionate, patient with her. And he had loved her mother. She's sure of that.

She turns back to the window to look down at Merlin once more. She's known him for three days. Surely, even after that first hour, she could say which man he favored more. If her mother, if her father could see her now, what would they say? They'd be disappointed, she thinks, at how hard she's worked to close herself off. And they would like Merlin.

She swivels again to look at Arthur.

"So how do I fix this?" she asks, and he grins.

At the top of the landing, Merlin stops to inhale deeply. He lets the breath seep into his lungs, forces himself to calm down. Soft band music drifts up the staircase. "Bring a Torch, Jeanette Isabella," he thinks. And he can smell gingerbread. And peppermint. The atmosphere would be joyous if he weren't so nervous.

He has a speech all prepared. After his talk with Gwen this afternoon, he thinks he understands Morgana a bit better. They're different, but they can work that out. Maybe that's what he likes about her, the fact that she sees things from an entirely different perspective. The whole issue about having a date for tonight wasn't about him. Her reluctance during the past few days wasn't about him, either. And now that he knows that, he knows how to better interact with her. If his outlook on love is so intense that it sends her into a tailspin, then he's determined to meet her halfway, show her that the risk makes the reward that much greater and that he's willing to be patient if she's willing to try.

After another deep, cleansing breath, he makes his way down the steps. The gala is in the main hall, a huge room designed especially for occasions such as this. The crowd is filled with people he doesn't know, nor cares to, but there is one person in particular he desperately needs to have a conversation with. The only problem is she's nowhere to be found. He snags a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and, spotting Arthur and Gwen, heads toward them.

"Oh, Merlin," says Gwen, taking him by the arm and pulling him closer. "You're late."

Champagne glass still in his hand, he tugs at his bowtie. "I had to look presentable, didn't I?"

"You look good, mate," Arthur assures him.

"Thanks. Um . . . I don't suppose you know where I could find Morgana, do you?"

He tilts his head toward the French doors at the opposite end of the hall. "I saw her head out toward the gazebo. Always finds these a bit too stuffy, you know?"

"Right. Thanks."

Gwen gives him an encouraging smile and squeezes his arm, and Arthur punches him lightly on the shoulder as he walks by. No one notices as he weaves his way through the guests and out the doors. A gusty blast of December air hits him, sending a shiver through him, and snow is falling, dampening his hair and shoulders, but the night is starry, and the snowy estate grounds are illuminated with strings of lights. It's magical. Or would be if he could find the girl he's looking for.

He knocks back his champagne in one gulp and sets the empty glass on the railing. His breath fogs as he shuffles around to look for her, and that's when he spots it, a slip of paper sitting atop the bench across the balcony. He crosses to it and gingerly picks it up, chuckling when he sees that it's a cartoon of a princess, rather decently drawn. The princess has dark hair, green eyes – an ink-and-imagination version of Morgana. Beneath the picture, in a pretty script, it reads: There once lived a princess who was afraid of nothing . . .

He frowns. There must be a continuation. He scans the area for the second page and spots it at the bottom of the steps. In this one, the princess is turned away from three handsome, richly dressed suitors.

Except love.

His breath catches in his chest, and he looks up. A dark figure moves in the gazebo. He allows himself the slightest hesitation, because everything he's learned about her in the past three days has screamed at him to be cautious with her heart, but then he's off, the snow crunching beneath his shoes.

A third picture is taped to a lamppost a ways down the snowy path. This time, there is only one prince with the princess. He smiles when he recognizes his messy hair and blue eyes.

One day, she met a boy who offered her the world as well as his heart . . .

He finds a fourth on the bench halfway to the gazebo, of the princess holding up a hand toward the prince, clearly sending him away.

But the princess rejected him before love had a chance to hurt her.

And the fifth, of the princess surrounded by treasures but all alone.

It was not until she let him go that she realized that choosing to live without love was the most unspeakable and unbearable of fates.

The sixth, of her in traveling clothes in the midst of trees.

To heal the injury she had done him, she went on a journey through the forests and across the oceans to beg his forgiveness . . .

The seventh, of her offering a red tulip to the prince.

And to promise that, no matter how afraid she became, she would try her hardest to open her heart.

The eighth, only the tulip.

And he said . . .

Collecting the drawings has drawn him closer and closer to the gazebo. Clutching the eight papers, he looks up to see her standing inside, regarding him hopefully. She's wearing a dark green gown that brings out her eyes, and once he ascends the three steps to stand before her, he understands why she isn't freezing. Of course the Pendragons would have a heated gazebo.

He holds the last page up for her. "What does the prince say?"

Morgana licks her lips. "I don't know. What does he say?"

He reaches out to take her hand in his. "That depends on whether you have a real tulip for me or not."

She chuckles lightly. "I spent all afternoon on that, you know."

"And I'm very impressed. Seems my drawing lesson paid off."

"Are you ever serious?"

"Only about food and magic, obviously."

"Obviously." Sighing, she leads him over to a bench. "Look," she begins, "I want to apologize for how I've behaved."

He shakes his head and sets the drawings down beside him. "No. You don't. There's nothing to apologize for."

"Then I want to explain." She takes a deep breath, then, her speech halting and unsure, says, "Uther's my biological father, which is why I came to live with him after my mother died, but he didn't treat her well. I knew it, and all this time, I've grown up thinking that was normal, that love wasn't to be trusted." She runs her thumb over his knuckles. "If my mother could see me now, though, I think she'd be disappointed."

"Why is that?" he asks softly.

"Because Uther's only one man and I've let my time living here blind me. I've forgotten about my childhood and how . . . perfect it was. My father, my true father even if he wasn't my biological one, was so . . . so caring. And he loved my mother. I saw how much they loved each other every single day." She hesitates, but he waits, feeling there is more coming. Finally, she adds, "Everything I've thought about relationships I've based on the wrong example. I don't want to let whatever this is with you pass me by because I'm afraid. So I guess what I really want to say is I want to try. If you'll give me the chance, that is."

His chest feels as if it's going to explode, and he lets the happiness bubble up into a soft chuckle. It's the longest, and certainly the bravest, speech he's heard from her. And he feels lighter than he has all day, because he's come to convince her to give him a shot and here she is trying to convince him. Seems like they'll be meeting in the middle after all.

"Oh, Morgana," he breathes. Laughing, he squeezes her hands and says, "I want to try, too. Morgana, you and I, we could be, we could be magical. And I don't want to scare you. I promise to be patient and figure this out right alongside you. And –"

She presses a finger to his lips. "Merlin?"

And he realizes that he hasn't taken a breath since he began. "Right. Sorry," he chuckles, feeling his cheeks go red.

Her eyes sparkling, she says, "Shut up and kiss me already."

His lips split in a grin. "As you wish."

Even if he weren't a believer in the magic of the holidays, the kiss is everything a Christmas Eve kiss should be: earnest and dreamlike and full of wonder and love. It warms him from his toes to the tips of his ears. He slides his arms around her waist and is delighted to find how well she fits against him. Her lips, too, match his so perfectly that they must have been formed for each other.

Morgana pulls away, threading her fingers through his hair. Her lips brush against his as she murmurs, "I think I'm falling in love with you, Merlin Ambrose."

"And I think I've already fallen," he chuckles. "But don't worry. I'll give you time to catch up."

"How generous of you."

"Morgana."

"Hmm?"

"Happy Christmas."

Smiling, she presses another soft kiss to his lips. "Happy Christmas, Merlin."

The snow begins falling faster, which should probably be their cue to get inside where it's safe and warm and they can be good little guests for her father, but he wants just a few more moments, a few more stolen kisses, a few more shared laughs in order to nurture this burgeoning rapport. Because it's Christmas after all, a time for faith, a time for hope, a time for new beginnings.