In the days, weeks, and then the months that followed, Morgana tried to adjust to the reality of being alone. Of course, she wasn't alone at all in one sense – Gwen was as sweet as ever, and Arthur could always be counted on in a pinch. But did they ever really see her? No… not the way Kynon had.

Funny, but she couldn't stop thinking of him as Kynon, even though she knew that had never been his real name. Maybe he was right… maybe it didn't matter either way. Sometimes she almost convinced herself of that, especially during those long, lonely nights when she awoke from her nightmares, wishing she could see his face just one more time.

His face, yes, scars and all. Sometimes she wondered if that was where she'd lost his trust – snatching the mask away without his consent and then recoiling in horror. Morgana wasn't a fool, having long since realized that it must've been a disguise and a clever one at that. Could he still have been so hurt by her actions that losing her had been preferable to opening himself up in other ways?

No. That was absurd. What cause would he have had to take offense if it wasn't even his face in the first place?

Besides, what she'd done was nothing next to his repeated violations of her trust. Lying to her about her magic. Casting enchantments without her knowledge. Being less than forthcoming about everything, really, when she'd only ever given him the truth.

And so as lonely as she was, as tempting as it might be to go to him at times, she didn't. If he couldn't give her this one little thing after she'd been willing to forgive him so much, what was the point?

In the end, perhaps it really was fitting to think of him as Kynon. Who was Kynon anyway? A dream that had never been quite real, an illusion, a facade of so many things she'd wanted and could never quite claim as her own. Yet she'd been real to him, hadn't she? The way he'd looked at her, seeing her for who she truly was… no, that part of it at least could never be denied. And the loss of it was what hurt her more than anything else.

She'd begun to believe she might never have that again, doomed to a life of secrecy and silence. Perhaps that was why she immediately felt a kinship with the woman who appeared in Camelot, dressed from head to toe in armor. Maybe because she was different, too? Hard to imagine that a woman who chose to live as a warrior would meet with a lot of understanding.

No, it was more than that… almost a compulsion that led her to the guest chambers that night. That strange instinct was how she knew, without having to be told, that the woman had magic. Yes, magic was the invisible thread that bound them, just as it had with Mordred, with Kynon, a soul deep recognition that couldn't be explained, merely acknowledged and respected. And it was that connection that explained why this stranger looked upon her with more familiarity than those she'd known her entire life.

The bracelet, too, was magical. Nobody needed to tell her that… not when she could feel the faint thrum of energy in her bones every time she slipped it on. And as her new friend had promised, she slept soundly, a deep, peaceful slumber that left no room for nightmares or past regrets.

Still, she dreamed of him, his voice echoing in her mind much as it had during the silent communications they'd shared before he'd suppressed her magic. Morgana, he said. Come to me. Please. Just give me one more chance to set things right, and I promise I will. Please…

Sometimes the dream was so real that she could've sworn it was no dream at all, but Kynon himself calling to her in the dead of night. Whenever she started to believe that, momentarily awakened by the urge to go to him, the bracelet would work its magic, dragging her back down, down into slumber once more. When morning came, she'd laugh to herself, soft and bittersweet, convinced it was just a figment of her imagination.

Eventually, she stopped dreaming of him at all… and strangely enough, that was when she decided she had to see him one last time.

The night couldn't have been more perfect. Arthur and Merlin were away from Camelot, off to investigate some silly rumor about resurrected knights. Meanwhile, she'd received a message from Morgause requesting her presence in the Darkling Wood, which was ideal for two reasons. First, she'd have to slip away from her chamber anyway, and second, there'd be no chance of her ending up in Kynon's bed if she knew she could only stay a few minutes.

What was the point in going then? She wasn't sure. Perhaps it was nothing more than needing to put old ghosts to rest.

Wrapping herself in her warm velvet cloak, Morgana descended the stairs, breathing a sigh of relief when she didn't encounter a single guard. She touched the statue in just the right spot, ducking behind it into the familiar passageway. When she reached the door to the hiding place, she hesitated. Of course, he might not even be there, but what if he was? What would she say? Panicking, she nearly turned back right then, but for all the things she was, Morgana had never been a coward. She lifted her hand to knock – once, twice, a third time.

Silence.

"Kynon?" she called softly.

Hearing no response, she looked closer, realizing the door was slightly ajar. She pushed on it, lightly at first and then harder, frowning as the hinges squeaked in protest. It was as if no one had entered this chamber for years, but how was that possible? She'd been in and out of here constantly just a few months ago.

As such, nothing could have prepared her for what she found inside. She lifted her torch, gasping aloud as she inspected the contents of the dusty, cobwebbed room. Old suits of armor. Broken furniture. Piles and piles of discarded linen and other bedding. She saw nothing of the furnishings she remembered – this was nothing but a storage room, which clearly hadn't been used in decades. Had she entered the wrong chamber? No… no, that wasn't possible. She'd been here a dozen times or more, could've found this place in her sleep.

Had she imagined it then, dreamed up a whole different life that had never existed at all?

Bewildered, Morgana stepped backward, crying out as she stumbled and fell hard on her backside. She sat there dazed, only gradually realizing that her hand had landed on something soft, preventing her from skinning her palm. Lifting it for closer inspection, she sighed with relief. No, it seemed she hadn't gone mad after all.

Pushing herself to her feet, she tucked the mask deep in the folds of her cloak before giving the chamber one last, lingering look.

"Goodbye, Kynon," she whispered.

Strange, but she almost felt… relieved as she fled from their former sanctuary, closing the door on him for good. Then again, perhaps it wasn't so strange. All she'd ever wanted was to be accepted for who she was, to be trusted enough to offer that same acceptance in return.

Why should she suffer over Kynon's refusal to give her what she needed when Morgause waited just beyond the city walls, ready to offer those things with both hands open?

~*~
THE END
~*~