Things That Go Bump in the Night

"Hush, child

The darkness will rise from the deep,

And carry you down into sleep…"

Mordred's Lullaby ~ Heather Dale

(Arthur)

"Whose greatness?" Arthur said, leisurely stripping his gloves from his hands.

Merlin looked up from the table in Arthur's bedchamber, where he sat with sharpening stone and polishing rag to tend to the prince's weapons, sword and dagger.

And that, because Arthur made a concerted effort toward normalcy today, in spite of yesterday's revelation. In spite of the fact that nearly every time he looked at his thin ragged manservant, he saw the outstretched hand of command, the strong erect posture, the golden eyes – the choking black mist.

The prickle of fear he couldn't quite suppress at the thought of Merlin having magic, was soothed by the undeniable sense of relief he'd felt, that his servant – friend – had been able to defend himself against such an insidious threat. He had been trying to act normally too, Arthur thought. A bit more respectful than usual, a bit quieter – but then, there was a lot on both their minds.

"Sorry, greatness?" Merlin said, moving his cloth by feel, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes betraying his teasing. "You? Just said, greatness?"

Incorrigible. And Arthur was secretly glad to see it – it meant that magic didn't change Merlin. Much.

"Gaius said, greatness requires a rise and a fall," Arthur reminded him, ignoring the jibe. For now. "Someone responsible for both, and he assumed you and your brother had been chosen. And, as you will never be great at anything…" Deliberately he goaded. Merlin didn't often satisfy his curiosity – now he knew why – but sometimes he could be provoked into hiding less.

And he was provoked, Arthur could tell by the way his spine jerked straight and his eyebrows rose – but he reconsidered. Quietly. Settling back into his habitual borderline-disrespectful slouch, toying with his idle rag. Then he sighed in surrender.

"Evidently it's you," he said, flapping the rag at Arthur. "Destiny has marked your reign for legend. So I'm told."

Arthur couldn't quite stop a snort, himself. He had some mighty big boots to fill among his ancestors; most days he only hoped he didn't disgrace them and muck things up too badly. But… "Wait, so you think your destiny is to help me, what? rise to greatness?"

Merlin's mouth quirked. "Well, you know what they say about hot air…"

"Shut up." Arthur chucked one of his gloves at Merlin's head, though he ducked successfully. Grinning – and Arthur was nearly distracted. He spun on his heel to saunter away, down the length of the rug before his fireplace. "But that means… you think your brother's destiny is to… bring me down?"

He turned again, and now Merlin was intent on his polishing. What an eye for detail, had Merlin. So very diligent.

"How?" Arthur said. For discussion's sake. "Like, betraying us to our enemies? Defeating me? he's just a kid!"

"I know," Merlin told the sword, barely audible. "It's why the druids have been trying to keep the curse from taking hold of him. Gaius went to the vendor in the lower town that Cerdan –" he glanced up under his shaggy fringe of black hair and clarified, "Mordred's mentor, the druid the guards killed yesterday because he wouldn't surrender. Anyway, Gaius got the same supplies the druid was after, and believes he's got a good idea how to protect Mordred one more night, before we bring him back to the others in the forest."

"Does he know?" Arthur said, wondering if he believed all this, himself. Even though he had seen that surreal black smoke that reeked of evil with his own eyes. "Mordred, I mean."

Merlin shook his head slowly, dropping the rag to his knee. "I don't know… When we wake him, it seems to stop, so… whatever the druids do, he probably sleeps through it. Only last night we couldn't wake him…"

Arthur made three and a half more trips along the length of his rug, before he spoke again. "And what about you?"

"What about me?" Merlin flashed a grin in spite of full comprehension of Arthur's meaning; Arthur cocked a stern eyebrow at the carelessness of his own safety.

"Gaius said it might have diverted to you?"

Merlin sighed again. Laid aside his rag, stretched himself up from his seat and approached Arthur carrying the finished sword on his open palms. "That is why," he said lightly, "Gaius wants us separated, tonight. Both of us in the same place will be sure to draw the curse – but apart, we can tell who it's –"

"Coming for?" Arthur interrupted sarcastically. "Great. What's the plan if it's your brother? You won't be there?"

No trace of humor in his goofy servant, as Merlin glanced uneasily toward the door. "Gaius has help. A couple of the servants he trusts to keep their mouths shut, armed with buckets upon buckets of water."

To throw on the smoke, or on the dreaming boy? Arthur wondered. "And if it comes for you?" Merlin's eyes darkened, and he shivered involuntarily. And Arthur found himself adding, "You can fight it off, you did it last night easily, didn't you?"

"Easily," Merlin said, and his voice rasped slightly, as if mouth and throat had suddenly gone dry. "Not… exactly."

Arthur remembered the slender frame, swaying slightly as if at a great gust of wind, unfelt by anyone else. Tensing without apparent provocation so completely and horribly – before exploding with a light so sudden and unnatural he wasn't sure he had expected Merlin to remain in one piece. Uneasily, he shrugged that memory off.

"You'll be staying here," Arthur declared. His personal manservant should have occupied the antechamber anyway, but since Merlin preferred to be close to Gaius at night – and he wasn't that far from Arthur, and usually not even that late, in the mornings – Arthur hadn't said anything. But tonight… "I'll even sit up with you until midnight. Just to be sure."

"I don't like the idea of that curse anywhere near you," Merlin objected – and just as suddenly changed his mind, as something seemed to occur to him. "If I do, you've got to promise me something."

"Princes don't make promises to their servants," Arthur said lazily, covering the twinge of uncertainty Merlin's earnest manner gave him.

Merlin scoffed. "Princes make promises to protect their subjects all the time, it's got to be in the knights' code somewhere."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You want me to promise to protect you from the scary black smoke? I'll just flap my apron at it, shall I?"

"No, I don't need your protection," Merlin said – rather too dismissively, in Arthur's opinion. "I mean, you've got to promise to protect yourself from me. If it looks like the curse is starting to take hold –"

He hefted the naked blade in his hands in a gesture for Arthur to take it.

Arthur didn't.

"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin, I'm not going to –" Kill you, he couldn't say. Nor, run you through. Not even in jest. "Use this on you."

As his head bowed and his shoulders slumped, Merlin's fingers closed about the sword, tightly enough to make Arthur worry he'd cut himself; he reached immediately to remove the weapon from the younger man's hands.

"Arthur, you… cannot. Let me… use my magic. Against you." Merlin's eyes met his, imploring. "Please. I would rather be dead than have a curse turn me against you."

And by all the gods, he meant it. Arthur couldn't look away from his gaze, couldn't even speak. He would never be afraid of Merlin again.

"Let's just hope it doesn't come to that," he finally managed.

It seemed that was good enough for Merlin, and they did not speak of the matter again. Not through Merlin bringing Arthur's dinner – and then sharing it – not through the last of the chores Arthur could think of to occupy the time, within the room at least. Not through Merlin's obligatory complaints and the conclusion of the last activity.

And when they sat in silence – drinking together for the first time, a watered wine that would settle nerves without impairing judgment – they spoke neither of the time nor of the sword that lay bare on Arthur's table.

They spoke of magic, then.

Because it had occurred to Arthur to ask, did Merlin's abilities extend beyond curse-resisting. Merlin was hesitant, almost shy – who would have thought – but Arthur had experienced only inimical magic, had heard only of its evils. To hear the opposing argument from someone he knew, and trusted, was quite like Merlin himself – an annoying draft that turned out to be a breath of fresh air.

Merlin didn't speak of things he'd done since coming to Camelot, and Arthur didn't ask. The law was the law, after all. But the magic he described using in his hometown was as alien to Arthur's experience as the peasant life itself – and therefore fascinating.

At least, while they had nothing to do but wait for midnight and a visible curse.

And when it came, Arthur was unprepared.

The flame hadn't quite reached the candle-mark; he at least was keeping an eye on it, probably Merlin as well, who commented lightly, "At least if it comes here, we'll know it hasn't gone for Mordred."

He hadn't so much as finished saying his brother's name, when a violent gust of wind blew suddenly down the chimney in Arthur's chamber, and the fireplace belched a startling cloud of soot.

Arthur had been sitting with his back to it, and knocked the chair over in rising to face the unexpected sound and movement. Merlin was on his feet as well, from Arthur's second chair, pushed back from the foot of the table - and for the briefest of moments, Arthur was ready to scoff at his own nervous fright, ready to counter whatever uncomplimentary remark Merlin made, ready to order the cleaning of the hearth and floor.

The smoky cloud didn't settle, but acted on its own, rising and drawing together and floating on thin air, rolling and tumbling like a very slow wave – but like a wave, undeniable and inescapable.

Arthur retreated, arms instinctively spread to shield his manservant – and it seemed to pursue him. The idea entered his mind, we should run – and then Merlin slipped under his right arm to face the dark cloud, swallowing and regurgitating itself, his own arms out and fingers spread.

"Merlin," Arthur warned, anxious at the proximity of his friend to the darkness that had proved so dangerously debilitating the previous night. Reaching to grab him – by the lapel of his jacket, his sleeve, his neckerchief – and somehow couldn't lay a hand on him.

"It'll keep coming," Merlin returned, glancing over his shoulder. His voice sounded tight and desperate. "Unless it's refused."

At that moment another gust whipped the sooty drift straight into him.

Behind him, Arthur couldn't see clearly what happened, but the darkness condensed into Merlin's outline – and the muscles of the younger man's body drew perceptibly tauter. A shudder rippled through him, fluttering the edges of his jacket and hair; he drew to his full height – then kept going, til his chin tipped up and his spine arced backwards. He made a noise of protest, more of a whimper than he'd admit to, under normal circumstances, and Arthur felt odd when he thought about the possibility of teasing him…

Because it was different than what he'd witnessed, last night. Last night had been Merlin initiating contact, reaching and grabbing and staying – it seemed to Arthur – in control. This was…

Ambush, was the word that came to mind.

"Merlin!" Arthur said again, hating the ignorance and helplessness he always felt when facing magic. He found himself fumbling sideways to the table for his sword – and confidence was slightly restored at the familiar weight and balance, the curve of the hilt in his hand.

His servant relaxed forward again – a movement gentle and mild and slow compared to the explosion of light that had occurred the night before – til he was slumped in on himself. Then he shuffled around, turning by degrees as if embarrassed or contrite, to face Arthur, his chin on his chest to hide his face.

Arthur didn't quite dare say his name again. As familiar as he'd become with Merlin's unique way of moving with ungainly grace – he didn't recognize him, now.

His hands were clenched in fists at his sides, but as his right jerked upward by degrees – like a puppet in the hands of a clumsy child, fighting gravity's inclination to pull downward again – his head came up also, just enough for Arthur to see his eyes.

Glowing gold. Like a sorcerer's or a witch's eyes were said to.

"Are you fighting?" Arthur said softly, uncertainly. Urgently. "Are you winning?"

Merlin's hand reached shoulder-height, and his fingers uncurled – but not entirely. They twitched into claws – and Arthur couldn't breathe.

He gagged. He choked – tried to cough, didn't have the air – fumbled at his throat. There was no physical impediment; the ties of his shirt were loosened halfway down his breastbone at this late hour.

Merlin's head tipped a degree, and his face – golden eyes blazing blankly – twisted in silent anguished plea.

You cannot let me use my magic again you.

He was going to kill him. Another moment and Arthur would pass out – another moment and he'd be dead. And if the blackness left Merlin then, he would realize what he'd done, and it would ruin him and then there would be nothing left of either Arthur or Merlin…

Arthur concentrated on one particular spot on his friend's chest, a little upward and just to the right of the heart – prayed for some benevolent power to guide his shaky hand – his vision faded around the edges. Merlin took a step closer, and Arthur's was simultaneous, bringing the sword up.

It happened so horribly fast. The feel of his blade sliding through flesh so different than the rasp of straw figures on the training field. So sickeningly smooth.

Merlin's body jerked straight again for a moment – Arthur gasped in a free breath in time to catch him, let go the sword to carry him down to the floor. The gold cleared, leaving Merlin's eyes deep blue once again… he focused on Arthur's face… and smiled…

Arthur was not Gaius, he couldn't tell what damage he'd done. On his knees he scrambled for the basket of laundry waiting Merlin's attention on the morrow, snatching indiscriminately, returning to hold the material over the spreading red stain on the front of Merlin's shirt.

"Hold on," he choked out. "Just hold –"

The door of Arthur's chamber burst open. From his knees, he looked over his shoulder to see Morgana, hair disheveled around her shoulders, filmy white night-jacket loose and flowing about a more opaque gown.

"Arthur, I just had the most unthinkable nightmare!" she gasped, green eyes wide and dark in bone-pale face.

She couldn't see Merlin on the floor, from where she stood leaning against the closed door, and Arthur couldn't do more than gape.

Morgana added, "I dreamed that you ran Merlin through with your sword!"

…..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

(Morgana)

She shot straight up in bed, gasping and grasping at the fabric of her nightdress as if to staunch blood-flow.

As if the sword had pierced her own body.

The darkness wasn't absolute; Gwen always left a single candle burning the night through, but all Morgana could see was her dream. Merlin's eyes blazing with gold magic as he clenched Arthur's throat without touching him. Arthur stepping forward to thrust his bared blade through Merlin's chest.

Merlin had magic. And Arthur had found out… and they'd fought?

Morgana threw her covers back and snatched at her robe, panic lending her movements rapidity but not dexterity. Her dreams rarely made sense, but they were always true.

And if either Arthur or Merlin succeeded in killing the other, things would never be the same. She had to stop them, no matter what logic dictated about dreams and reality.

Wrenching her door back, she flew down the stairs, around a corner, through a corridor. Two guards she passed stood still as statues – were they frozen, or was she invisible? Torches kept burning for watchmen extinguished behind her as if the darkness pursued her. Hurry – hurry!

The guard posted at the end of the hall didn't notice her either, as she yanked the heavy oaken door of Arthur's chambers open and darted inside to lean on it and catch her breath. Thinking, for the first time – Arthur's asleep, Merlin's snoring safely in his own bed in Gaius' back-room... Except, the room was well-lit, and the prince nowhere near his bed. The top of Arthur's head was visible past the table, as he sat or knelt on the rug before his hearth.

"Arthur!" she exclaimed, not sure whether to feel silly or terrified. "I just had the most unthinkable nightmare! I dreamed that –" she couldn't accuse Merlin of having magic or of trying to assassinate the crown prince, not even in a dream – "you ran Merlin through with your sword!"

As she spoke, he'd turned and risen on his knees – she realized there was more to his look of shock than reaction to her entrance or the content of her dream. They moved at the same time – he to return to whatever held his attention and she to circle the table to see what it was –

Merlin. Legs crumpled as if he'd collapsed where he stood, sprawled on his back, eyes directed vaguely toward the ceiling and blue. A wad of white material beneath Arthur's hands soaked up red liquid from Merlin's shirtfront at a startling rate; Arthur's sword tossed a little distance, had scattered tiny droplets on the stone floor, but more blood smeared the silver blade.

"Oh it was true!" she gasped, rushing forward to fall at her knees beside him.

"Hold this down, I'm going for help!" Arthur scrambled to his feet. The door banged, open or shut, and she heard muffled bellowing further off.

Heal! What else was magic for, but to save and restore?

She shifted the makeshift bandage to cover the wound with her own hand. As she pressed against the bleeding, Merlin's head rolled toward her – she looked and met his eyes and he gasped a great breath, as if he had not realized til just that moment what had happened to him. What was happening to him.

For one instant her palm tingled as if her skin was somehow soaking up his blood – magic! healing! she thought –

And then her eyes went dark; she saw nothing but blackness.

But she heard whispers.

Fear. Her nightmares tenfold. For this time, it wasn't Arthur in danger, but she herself. Tied to a stake with dry kindling to guard her, plain white dress whipping in the wind. Uther declaiming – sorceress – as Arthur dipped the torch to the wood.

You have magic, you know. Strong as Merlin's… snide echo of whispers. He fights the inevitable. Everyone dies… you will die. Soon, and horribly.

No…

Unless you strike first. Kill Arthur –

He's a good man –

His father's son.

Better than his father –

Better at what? Hunting, tracking, killing. You stand no chance against him. Unless you strike first. Uther is nothing without his precious son, he can be manipulated if you like, or done away with. If you like. Because they would do it to you.

They're my friends!

No one is friends with a sorceress.

They wouldn't -
You really want to give them the chance? To find out? It'll be too late by then… Take your power now, and fear no man, ever again. Embrace this magic, and your dreams will show you what you want to see. You decide…

I decide.

That sounded… good. No fear, ever again, sounded good.

Good.

Morgana inhaled, light invading her eyes as someone – Arthur – pulled her back from Merlin.

His eyes were still on her, dark with agony though he ignored the two guards positioning a pallet underneath him, keeping the wad of cloth – one of Arthur's shirts? – pressed against the wound, as if the pain he felt was other. Separate from his physical being. He was already ashen from blood loss, eyes surrounded by bruise-darkness; lips nearly colorless formed her name, slowly and breathlessly.

"Morgana…"

She struggled with Arthur's strength and hold, but whether to break it or to cooperate in gaining her feet, she wasn't sure. When Arthur let go, she was upright and frozen in place; he moved to the side of the pallet as the guards lifted it, holding the bandage down on Merlin's blood-soaked chest.

"We'll take him to Gaius," Arthur said over his shoulder to her. "He'll be all right. He will. Go on back to bed…"

Merlin's eyes kept contact with hers, and she didn't look away to acknowledge the prince. He whispered, as if there were no sounds or movements of hurry or tension, and she heard him clearly. "There is always another way…"

She stood still and watched them go, fast-careful as fighting men can, who carry a wounded comrade and have done it before. Merlin, who had magic, and Arthur who'd stabbed him for it – but was now carrying him to Gaius to save him…

Bewildered, Morgana looked around the room, serene and opulent, fire crackling at the hearth. On the side table, armor and sword and crown.

This should all be mine. If this was all mine, I would never fear anyone inflicting such a wound.

She looked at her hand, smeared wet with blood, and rubbed her fingers together, testing the cooling stickiness against her skin curiously.

Mine… sounds good.

As if in a dream, Morgana walked back to her own room, her own bed… and went back to sleep.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

(Gwen)

She was late. Just a little late, but it still bothered her because she wasn't usually, usually she was early enough to bring the breakfast tray upstairs and either rekindle the fire or open the window, whichever was appropriate for the season, though midsummer meant opening the window obviously which was faster and sometimes quieter, before Morgana woke.

Unless she had one of her nightmares, of course, but those were rare, thank goodness.

But Gwen was still late, which was why she was hurrying, and with her attention on the tray so as not to spill anything, rather than on the familiar route, she almost did spill, coming around a corner just as someone else came the opposite way.

"Oh my goodness!" she gasped as dishes rattled and liquid slopped – but she kept her hold and her balance. With the aid of that person's hand on her wrist, maybe. "Thank you – I'm sorry!"

"You're all right?"

Then, she almost dropped the unspilled tray, from shock, looking up into the handsomest pair of blue eyes since Merlin's. "Oh – Prince Arthur! I beg your pardon, I was in a rush…"

"Me as well. It was quite a night." He gave her a wry, tired smile, but didn't shift his weight or look past her as if impatient to be on his way.

"What happened?"

Sometimes she wished she used the maid's room adjacent to Morgana's quarters, just to be closer on mornings when she was late – though she wasn't usually late – but Morgana never wanted one of her nightmares to wake Gwen also, no matter what Gwen said about companionship and warm milk. And there was her father in the lower town to take care of, too.

The prince cocked his head as if debating whether to tell her – or maybe how much to tell her. "Merlin had a – an accident, in my room, last night. Morgana was there, it was a bit traumatic."

"An accident?" Not uncommon, Merlin's clumsiness was a well-known fact among the other servants, he was always in such a hurry, but he was so sweet and cheerful about it that no one minded. But for Prince Arthur to mention it – for something about it to have him in a rush – "He's badly hurt?" she concluded worriedly.

"Oh! It was – I mean, there was some bleeding, but… Gaius is a very skilled healer." His mouth quirked and she wondered why – then she wondered why she was looking at and thinking of his mouth, and blinked her eyes back to his. "And Merlin heals quickly."

"Yes, I've noticed." She felt her cheeks warm, remembering her friend so close to death that Gaius had taken it for granted, and the next moment talking and teasing. That kiss had been a mistake, she hoped her next one would be –

"So he'll be fine." Arthur swung his arms a bit and rocked on his heels self-consciously. "This morning he wants out of bed and Gaius is threatening sleeping potions to keep him resting until we're sure he's all right and – by the way, he's worried about how Morgana might have taken it all, so maybe you could… keep an eye on her?"

"Of course." Gwen couldn't help the smile of pleasure that she could be of use to the crown prince; usually he overlooked her in his aggravation with Morgana.

"Right. Thank you." He gestured again, past her. "I'm just on my way to the kitchen to make sure Merlin has – that Gaius has the right sort of… breakfast. For a patient."

She ducked her head in a nod that was also a bow. "And I am… late to take this to Morgana."

He moved from her path, and she continued.

"Sorry to have kept you."

Gwen looked over her shoulder to see that he'd gone several steps before turning also, and that lopsided smile that all the ladies sighed over, was on his face. For her.

"Not at all," she managed. And wasted another three seconds watching him turn and stride out of sight, whistling and swinging himself around the corner with one hand on the wall. Merlin really would be fine, then, she decided, if Arthur could whistle. Morgana would be glad to hear that, and maybe later Gwen could visit – Morgana! oh!

Gwen hustled.

But as it turned out, she needn't have bothered. Morgana was still asleep in the middle of her silken pillows and sheets.

Perhaps the excitement had tired her out, Gwen sympathized, leaving the tray on the table and going for the curtains to let in some light. The rustle of the fabric almost covered the same sort of noise, from the direction of the bed.

"Good morning, Morgana," Gwen called softly over her shoulder, shaking the curtain so it would fall correctly when she hooked it back out of the way.

"Don't open those." Morgana sounded fully awake, now.

"But it'll stay dark in here," Gwen said reasonably, not pausing in the task. "Do your eyes hurt? Maybe when we go to Gaius –"

"I'll light the candles," Morgana said – and a moment later Gwen caught a light-and-shadow flicker on the stone wall.

She let the curtain fall back into place, obscuring the sunshine and turned to see Morgana on her feet next to the bed, stretching in catlike self-satisfaction – across the room from the candle-holders. Well, her mistress must be feeling active or restless this morning. Perhaps because –

"Why would we need to go to Gaius," Morgana added in the sort of condescending drawl she usually reserved for the prince. "My eyes are fine."

Gwen drew closer as Morgana dropped into her seat and began picking over the breakfast tray, without a word of appreciation – not that she needed to say anything, but she did usually…

"I thought we could check up on Merlin," she said, making the comment into a question.

Morgana tilted her head and raised an eyebrow.

Gwen prompted, "His accident?"

"Oh!... yes, accident." Morgana smirked. "He's all right then, I assume. Magically."

"Please don't joke about that," Gwen said with quiet distress. Morgana was acting strangely – and not at all like she sometimes did after a sleepless night. "Arthur said that Gaius treated Merlin and –"

"Arthur said." Morgana's hand stilled halfway from tray to mouth; her green eyes looked almost black as she stared into the empty space of the room. "Tell me, do you think Arthur will enforce Uther's laws on magic, when he is king?"

The topic made Gwen nervous – it had ever since that mysterious poultice had appeared to heal her father. As if simply by talking about it they might draw Uther's unreasonable attention and questions would be asked again and arrests would be made and she still didn't know who'd actually healed her father but she didn't want that person caught, so… best to be on the safe side.

"I'm sure he will," she blurted. "Of course he will uphold Camelot's laws, now and always."

Morgana hummed thoughtfully, then shoved the tray away. "I'm going to get dressed," she announced, and went on to detail the chores she had for Gwen that day.

And it would be a busy day – hard to manage a visit to Gaius' chambers, but maybe if she was quick about it… maybe Arthur would be visiting, provoking Merlin into recovering more quickly…

"Yes, my lady," she said, focused on the first of her list of duties.

Morgana had paused by the window. "It's a beautiful kingdom, isn't it? Pity it's ruled by a man." Gwen chuckled, following to help with buttons and ties, as her mistress continued musingly, "Perhaps someday Camelot will have a queen. Queen… sounds good."

"When Arthur marries," Gwen suggested.

Morgana turned just enough to let the exaggerated roll of her eyes show, before she disappeared behind her dressing screen. "Who would marry him?"

Gwen, still smiling, decided that Morgana was fine, and she would tell Arthur so when she saw him again.

A/N: Oneshot, remember. So I won't be continuing this idea – you can think that Morgana began that day, trying to kill Arthur and everything worked out as it did in the series… Or you can think that the legends were closer to correct and it was the Arwencelot triangle that weakened Camelot and led to the civil war that took Arthur's life… Or you can figure that Merlin is more powerful than Morgana and suspecting whose destiny it now was to kill Arthur was the key to keeping him safe from her until he was a very old man…

Good news is, I've crossed the NaNoWriMo finish line – 50k yay! (The story itself still needs a couple more chapters and probably an epilogue, too, but I'm easing off the pace of writing a bit…) The other good news is, I'm hoping to have a new chapter for "Released by Truth" out by the weekend!