Arthur turns up on my doorstep late one night. I opened the door, and we collide. He is like a man possessed, a man whose world has spun around so fast he does not know where he is. He reeks of whiskey and smoke, the fumes cling to him and he clings to me.

"I can't do it," He is crying, bleeding his tears into the crook of my neck. "It's too much. Too hard."

He is right. It is too much for anyone to bear, to see their father so and to have to shoulder the responsibility of a global company. It is too much both mentally and physically. Arthur needs Morgana.

I am no replacement, but I will have to do.

I pour Arthur a glass of water, and I sit with him the dark, stroking his hair as he lays his head in my lap. I offer him everything I can; company, support, loyalty. Everything I am, I give to him. I cannot give him more.

"Arthur?" I whisper tentatively into the dark.

"Yeah?" His voice is horse, full of emotion that makes my heartstrings tighten and my heart contract painfully.

I clear my throat. "It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings...his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat."

Arthur opens his eyes to look at me, blue beacons in the black night. "That's beautiful Gwenivere."

I give him a sad little smile and tuck a stand of hair behind his ears. "Good old Teddy."

Arthur just returns my smile, and his eyes bore holes into mine. We cannot break eye contact; I am drinking the sight of him in. Even now, he is beautiful.

We fall asleep on the couch. Morning comes too soon.

Merlin comes by to pick him up, a change of suit in one hand, homemade hangover tonic in the next. Daylight streams in through the window. Arthur nods politely at me, as he emerges from the bathroom. The closeness that was there between us last night has disappeared with the darkness.

"Thank you...for everything, Gwenivere," he says as he leaves. In the daylight, he is more assured, more confident; his posture is poised, and the frown in the corners of his mouth is less pronounced. Arthur is himself, eyes only faintly rimmed with red, banter on the tip of his tongue. He appears a man who cannot be touched by the world; he is resilient; he is a Pendragon.

Pendragon's prevail.

When I go to work that morning, I start a collection for Uther. People are not generous; we have all at some point suffered under his reign. I add my name to the card, embellishing the blanks spaces with a few names of fellow colleagues. I cannot be sure if I am doing this for Uther or Arthur.

The flowers I order are not the most exotic or even the most costly. They will be lost in a room full of roses and other showy flowers. The freesias I have chosen are a beautiful shade of yellow; they cheer me up and I hope they will bring a little cheer into Uther's life too.

As expected, the housekeeper just places them on the mantelpiece without a second glance. There, they are overshadowed by the abundance of roses and sneered upon by the multicoloured lilies.

Uther is in his living room, staring out of the window behind glassy eyes. Beside him, his nurse reads from the newspaper, smiling indulgently as he gurgles words we cannot decipher.

She treats him like a child, fussing over him as she arranges the blanket covering his legs. "Father," Arthur bends down so they are at eye level, "Remember Gwenivere?" Morgana's friend. Her name is a word that remains unsaid, a word forbidden in a house that pines for her.

Uther turns his head with much difficulty; he is lucky he can even do so. He stares at me, dull eyes seeing, mind not registering. It is such a far cry from the Uther that was, that it cannot be him. It cannot be the same person before me. And yet, it is.

This is a new Uther Pendragon I see. He is a man who cannot speak his mind, whereas he had never hesitated to before. I see frustration as he cannot place me, his fingers curving to form a loose fist. His movements are jerky as his fist hits the padded arms of his wheelchair.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Arthur shoots a glance at me as Uther babbles incoherently. "I'm sorry Gwenivere," he says swiftly. "He's a little tired right now." He grabs his father's fist gently.

"Stop that," the nurse says in a soothing voice. Her arm is on Uther's other hand.

Cumulatively, they smooth his tantrum with soothing words and hollow assurances.

Arthur turns to me, forgotten in the corner. "Maybe you should go."

I do not take offense. It is only natural Arthur would not want anyone to see his father like this. "Of course." I make my excuses and leave.

It is nice to know that Uther Pendragon has not entirely ceased to exist. He is still stubborn, still bad tempered. But, he is not whole. It is like when Morgana left, she took a part of him with her. The truth is that she took a part of all of us with her.

I take long strides from the living room, across the marble floor. The Pendragon town house is exactly as I remember, but with no Morgana here, grey touches every room. The lobby is every bit as opulent, every bit as extravagant as last time, but it is not the same.

"Gwenivere." Arthur stops me, his own footsteps echoing as he walks towards me. "Thank you for coming."

I bite my lip as I play with the strap of my bag. "You're welcome. We wanted to do something, at the office for him." I nod my head with conviction; hope he will forgive my little white lie.

He lets it slide. "Well then, send my thanks to them as well."

I smile brightly. "I will."

I like to think that my smile is infectious as the corners of his lips quirk upwards, ever so slightly. He sighs, as he leans against the doorway.

He looks tired.

"He didn't recognise you," he says as he tiredly rubs his face with one hand. "It frustrates him, not knowing new people, new things. He hates change." He stops, and his voice falters. "Sometimes he forgets who I am. And I can't be there all the time."

Everything unsaid from last night spills out. "He still loves you," I say.

"How can he? He doesn't even know who I am." The words are tart, sprouting from his mouth in a stream he cannot control. "I'm working so hard to hang onto Pendragon, and he doesn't even know it. I'm up at all hours, I'm tired and Morgana isn't here. She's fucking everything up, trying so hard to bring Pendragon down." He grips my arms. "You know it was her that sabotaged the Neahtid project? Do you know how much it cost Pendragon just to commission one crystal? We were lucky we could just scrape enough together to recover from that little endeavour of hers, because it almost ruined us." He stops to swallow. "She hates us. All of us." His grip loosens a little, as he remembers who he is and where we are. "I can't even tell him what's happening. It'd kill him." He lets out a little hollow laugh. It chills me to the bone.

"Arthur..." Arthur is changing before my very eyes. He is beautiful crystal, cracking, falling apart. He has nothing to hold him together, and his world is spinning out of control.

His breath is gentle across my cheek. We are fused to the spot, captivated by each other. To him, I represent a day where the only complication was that he had the hots for his girlfriend's best friend; to me, he represents someone who needs me.

It is a compulsion, Merlin says. I have to be noble. I have to do the right thing. I have always done the right, thing, even if it hurts.

Merlin throws a napkin at me. "You're so good Gwen."

It is not true.

I look down as Merlin continues. "Do me a favour?"

I look up. "Sure."

"Promise me that one day, you're going to do something for you. Just for you."

Merlin stumps me with that request. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just promise me." Merlin is serious, leaning over the table, eyes wide.

"I promise." It falls from my lips, just to please Merlin.

He is satisfied and therefore, I am too.

Merlin and Arthur are not the only ones who work late. I spend my time going over and over the preliminary bioprocesssing calculations, pour myself over the strategies that have very carefully been compiled. I do this partly for me, partly for Pendragon which has become my home.

"Ah, Gwenivere," Arthur says as I walk into his office. I am there strictly on business. "I'm glad you could come."

"I heard you wanted me to look over something?"

Arthur looks up from his computer screen. "Yeah, it's actually quite important. I'd like your opinion." He is coy, a look that I thought impossible a few months ago.

"Sure," I agree, my smile reflecting his. Arthur seems a little bit more relaxed; stocks are up and slowly inclining. Forecasts for next year precedent even Uther's own ambitions for Pendragon.

He gets up from his seat, ushering me into the plush leather so I can look at what has gotten him so excited.

It is not what I expect.

The new pension package is generous, feasible. It is something that is almost unheard of, something that lets me know that Arthur has truly come into his own. He has used his own money to part fund this scheme, a scheme which is in its own right genius. Arthur has blossomed under hardship, risen from the rubble and emerged a man who is worthy. More than worthy.

He is all that he can be, and I am so proud.

We are back to friends, back to the silly little in jokes and the witty banter. I would not exchange my friendship with Arthur for the world, would not want it to change for anything.

And yet, it does.

Not all surprises are bad.

It is an ordinary day when it changes. It is just another day, only it is not.

It all falls down to one simple action. One kiss. One moment of letting go of everything, everyone. No expectations set you free. They let you soar. It happens at the Christmas party, when the wine is free and the merriment is plentiful.

We get trapped underneath the mistletoe, Merlin smirking as he demands we follow tradition.

"Who am I to argue?" Arthur says, like he has never argued with Merlin.

I cannot take my eyes off him. "Indeed," I whisper.

He kisses me like he means it. Like it is the last time that he will ever see me. He kisses me like he is saying goodbye. He cannot go, I will him not to go. I will not let him.

I hold him close, ingraining the feel of his body against mine. I do this for me, just me. My lips press into his and send the world away in a haze, teleport us somewhere in the universe where we can just be.

It is a selfish act, of which no good can come, but I return the kiss. Mine is longing, sweet and full of promises of things yet to come. His frantic hands still, and settle on my waist. He pulls me closer. He cannot leave and I cannot stay.

It becomes hard to feel. It is hard to hear. It is hard to think beyond the roaring of blood in my ears, beyond the disbelief. When you spend so long trying to deny something, when you deny yourself something, it becomes almost a dream when it is happening.

It does not feel real. I do not pinch myself.

And like in my dreams, he does not go.

I am believer. At the end of it all, I am a believer in life and in love and I believe, with all my heart in Arthur. He the man I dream about, the one I come home to and the one I have been waiting for. He is the good kind.

Our engagement comes as a surprise, to the both of us, but nothing has ever felt so right. We keep it quiet for as long as possible, reluctant to rub Morgana's face in it. No matter what we do, the news will smart. It will cause her hurt, hurt we never meant to cause. She will think back, and she will remember what a bastard Arthur was, and she will think that all my sisterly actions were insincere. There is no way for me to tell her, no way to make her understand. Her mind is closed, set on a path of destruction and hate. She will not remember the good times, the times that I treasure most.

She is an idealist that has turned cynical.

Arthur does not like speaking of her. He loves her still, much like I love her. Like Uther, she is a topic we steer clear of, a subject that makes us still and silent. Merlin sometimes forgets that we do not speak of her when he reminisces, third beer in hand, fond memories on the tip of his tongue. Arthur and I stiffen, and I offer Merlin another drink, despite the fact that he has not yet finished the one in his hand yet.

He accepts my offer, and on his fifth beer, he passes out.

Merlin is a lightweight, Arthur says. He says it with scorn, but there is laughter in his eyes as he presses his forehead to mine, our noses touching, bumping. Eskimo kisses.

Morgana is not physically here, but we can feel her presence in spirit.

She rocks up to the December ball, the first event where Arthur formally takes over Uther's duties. Arthur is now a CEO, and things are different. We are all different. A lot can change in one year. A lot did change this year.

Merlin was right. Morgana's hair is no longer the flowing river it once was. It is now cropped close to her scalp, her ears peeking, all seeing. Her eyes blaze, as her gaze drops to my fingers interlinked with Arthur's. I do not drop his hand. I hold her gaze, and from across the room, I see a small smile tugging on her lips, her jaw lifting as she nods slightly. The look is not quite forgiveness. It is a begrudging acceptance.

I want to race across the room and throw my hands around her. I want to kiss her and tell her I love her, that she's home and that's all that matters. I don't care what she's done, or what she hasn't done. I know Morgana by heart, and she is back. She is where she belongs.

Instead, I stay where I am; watch as she disappears into the crowd. I cannot go after her; it is too soon. She is hurt, but I know that she will heal. She is Morgana. She will prevail. Just because she has lost her way does not mean we have closed her hearts to her. One day, though, it will all be worth it and she will come home and she will be welcomed with open arms.

But for now, she is the prodigal sister of Pendragon.

Merlin appears by my side. He has seen her too. Gaius is close by. He apologises. "I'm sorry. I didn't know she was going to be here." He is the aloof benefactor, the wise old man.

I smile and lay a hand on his arm. "She is always welcome," I say. Gaius nods. He still cares for her too; we all do. It is her that has turned from us, not the other way around.

If Arthur sees her, he does not mention it. My engagement party is overshadowed by the fact that she is here, in this very room and not with us. Life is almost perfect, almost beautiful and almost great.

It will not be complete without her.

I catch a glimpse of her dancing with Leon, one arm looped around his neck. On the dance floor they are equals. Her smile is brilliant, in response to his low murmur and her head is thrown back, her laugh tinkling from her throat.

She is happy.

That is all that matters.

Arthur catches my attention by bumping his leg with mine. "D'you want to dance?" The way he looks at me is indescribable. It makes my heart race, makes my mouth go dry and makes me feel like I can do anything. Like I can be anyone. He acts like I am his world. I am his, all his, heart and soul.

And he is mine. He lives for me.

Our destiny spreads before us. I do not expect a smooth ride; this past year has taught me that. I am simple at heart, simple despite the finery. I do not need it, it weighs me down.

I still feel the same, like an outsider in a world where I can never belong. Everyone who is anyone, buzzes around the room, full of flashy smiles and quick anecdotes. Even the waiters seem to be more comfortable than I am. They are more at home in my home than I am.

Arthur is my link to that world, my gateway, my protector. He, for all intents and purposes is my keeper; I have entrusted him with my heart and he has entrusted me with his. I have found that I belong at his side; now, I must find my purpose.

I still don't know what I want to be. I am not like Arthur; I still have much growing left to do to get to who I want to be.

The year draws to a close. It is December thirty first once more. The clock ticks, seconds trickling by, people counting down.

And then, with one stroke and millions of streamers in the sky, we greet in the New Year. I taste the champagne on my lips, on Arthurs and I know it will not be easy. New beginnings are never easy.

There is only one thing that can be certain - we will weather the storm.