Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin or its characters. I just like to toy with them

A/N: I am in love with this couple, and even though I'm fairly certain the Beeb has no plans to capitalize on the chemistry between Katie McGrath and Colin Morgan, I can't seem to reconcile my idea of them with what the show gives us. Therefore, I will continue to root for a Romeo/Juliet type of secret romance until season three airs and proves me wrong, haha.

The title comes from the song "Anywhere But Here," by Safetysuit.

The first time she sees him, a rush of pain floods through her, covering the anger she'd held onto so tightly. It's akin to the burning she'd felt in her lungs when the poison had started its dreaded work. But even as she remembers the way she had choked for air, the way the blackness had enveloped her, she can't get the image of his eyes, so full of remorse, out of her mind.

They're in the marketplace – he on business for the castle, she skirting her way through the crowd as she searches for a butcher she intends to buy information from. It's crowded enough that he doesn't immediately see her, but just the sight of him – his dark hair shorn closer to his head, his blue eyes ablaze with awareness, his gangly limbs somehow making him seem graceful – the sight is so unexpected that she stops short in the middle of the lane.

Time slows down around her, slowing to a crawl as he turns away from a booth, a basket of cheese in his arms, and gives the seller a smile.

But his smile's changed. It doesn't quite reach his eyes. Those brilliant eyes that once sparkled with such joy now burn with a melancholy that goes unnoticed by most. They're fooled by the smile.

Morgana, though, sees it.

Before he can notice her, she ducks behind a tanner's booth and out of sight.

The third time, she's infiltrating the castle, her mission to steal plans for the new treasury, damaged in the dragon's attack.

She gets so close.

The rolled-up sheets of parchment are in her fists, and she's dangerously close to feeling triumphant, when he rounds the corner and announces his presence with a quiet, pleading, "Don't do this."

She closes her eyes briefly, because there's a second when she sees that it will always be like this. He will always be there to counter her moves. And she can't figure out if she's okay with that or not, because at least it means they will be connected.

But she can't let him off that easily.

"I could have asked the same of you," she seethes quietly, "all of last summer, when I had no where to turn and you just let me strangle."

His mouth twitches, and for a passing moment he looks like he's going to burst, but instead he says, "Hand over the plans."

She shakes her head, her jaw clenched. "You'll just sound the alarm as soon as I do."

Surprisingly calm, he says, "If the plans are missing, they'll go after whoever took them. But if you happened to have glanced at them before I take them away –" He shrugs nonchalantly, and she almost – almost – smiles because she can see the old Merlin in there somewhere. "- then I can't help that, and no one will know, will they?"

"They'll know if you tell."

"I won't tell."

She doesn't know why she believes him – after all, he's been lying to her, to everyone, for so long now, and his loyalty has always lain with Arthur above her – but his argument does make sense. Tentatively, she unravels one of the scrolls to hastily commit its contents to memory, and he simply watches in silence, occasionally checking for any sign of the guard.

She can only risk a few minutes, and when she's gleaned as much as she can from the diagrams and plans, she hands them off to the patiently waiting Merlin without a word. She tries to brush past him, but he stops her, a hand on her arm.

She pauses, feels her heart quicken as his grasp tightens around her arm. She allows herself a split second of heartbreak before pulling away and waltzing down the corridor.

Merlin lets her go without a word.

The seventh, they meet in a tavern, low-lit and loud.

She's there to drink away the memories, sitting in the corner with her hood shadowing her face. She's paid a pretty coin so no one will bother her, but Merlin strolls right up to her table, a boldness in him she's not used to seeing, and sits down across from her.

Signaling the bar maid, he lays a coin on the table and purchases two pints of ale, even though her current one is only half-finished.

"What do you want?" she queries softly, peering at him over the rim of her mug.

"I want you to stop. This is reckless. You're going to get caught," he informs her, and she rolls her eyes as his need to save everyone becomes even more obvious. Ignoring her derision, he continues, "Sneaking around the castle, hanging around in taverns like this? It's dangerous. If Arthur finds you – if Uther does – you know what they'll do to you."

Yes, if she is caught on one of her midnight jaunts through the fortress, she'll certainly be executed as a sorceress. But she relies on her Sight to know when that day is coming, and perhaps that has made her foolhardy.

"Why do you care?" she asks him.

Merlin frowns, the frown digging into his face and making his cheekbones seem even harsher, accentuating the shadows. He takes a gulp of ale before confessing in a husky voice, "I don't want to see that happen."

She doesn't want to think about what that stirs up in her, so she clears her throat and asks, "So who sent you? Gaius? Gwen? . . . Arthur?"

He cocks his head, not quite seeming to understand the question, but then he replies, "No one else knows. I'm here on my own."

Morgana's eyebrows lift involuntarily in surprise, and she realizes she needs to work more on keeping her face neutral, emotionless. "No one knows you're here?" He shakes his head slowly, and a wicked smile spreads over her ruby lips. "So," she begins as she leans forward, "I could take you away from here, and no one would ever know what happened to you, because you didn't tell anyone you were meeting me."

Merlin's shoulders stiffen, but he can't take his gaze from her mouth. "I think you underestimate me."

She lets out a breathy chuckle. Does he think she doesn't know he's a warlock? After what he did to her? If she wanted to get rid of him, she could have alerted anyone in Camelot, and Uther would have taken care of the problem for her.

It's too bad she's starting to think of him as a different sort of problem.

"I know exactly what you are, Merlin," she tells him in a low voice, and he drags his eyes up to meet hers. She almost staggers with the intensity of the connection, with the intense reminder of what they've lost. But she swallows, recovering, and says, "But you're also a man, and I think you underestimate just how much you cared for me, how guilty the memory of me makes you feel." She drags a finger along his jaw before adding, "After all, not even warlocks are immune to the touch of a beautiful woman."

Merlin's jaw jumps under her touch, and his breathing quickens, but he doesn't rise to the bait.

"I know you don't owe me any favors," he says, and something in his tone keeps her from rolling her eyes disdainfully, "but would you at least stay out of places like this? I don't want to see you get hurt."

"I can take care of myself."

"I'm not questioning your ability to be cautious. I am questioning the capacity of men like that –" Subtly, he jerks his chin at a man in the center of the tavern, a beast of a man with wild eyes to match his wild, matted appearance, and a lecherous grin that he's been directing towards her the majority of the night. "- to control themselves, especially after a few pints."

As safe as she feels with her burgeoning magic, it can only protect her so far. And with the stupid risks she's been taking, Morgause won't always be there to save her when she makes a mistake.

She nods a promise, and he nods in return, his shoulders sagging in relief.

Smirking at him, she takes a sip and asks, "But where will I buy my ale?"

It's the first time in a long time she's seen him truly smile.

The eighth time, there's nothing but shouting and fury, accusations and pain. She wants to smack him for being so infuriating, and it's a good thing they happen to be in the middle of the forest where only the birds can hear them fight.

She's never seen him so out of control, so livid, but she supposes no one's ever pushed him this close to the edge. He's like a sapling, bending under constant pressure until it becomes too much, and he just snaps.

One too many reconnaissance trips into the castle, one too many close calls, and all of the sudden he's the concerned friend again.

But where was that protectiveness last summer, when she was all alone and left to fend for herself, when he had given her over to her own confusion and she had made all the wrong choices? Where was it the moment he'd chosen to slip poison into the canteen instead of finding another solution?

She hates that he can walk around acting like he cares, but how can he care about her and Camelot at the same time?

So she strikes out at him, pounding at his chest with fists meant for a life much softer than the one she lives now. He lets her channel her anger into the beating, enduring the blows as if his suffering will save the entirety of the kingdom. The pity in his eyes simply makes her hit harder, because he doesn't get that this is all just a big game to everyone else. In a handful of years, no one will care about the torment they've led themselves into.

Arthur will be the great king, remembered throughout time, and Gwen will be his great love, his reason for everything – their story inspiration for poets and lovers to come. Merlin will be his right hand, the brilliance behind the throne.

And she is left to be the villain, the tragically flawed character who simply threw her lot in with the wrong allies.

To the world, they will always be on opposing sides. No one will give a second thought to the secret affection in their hearts.

Thunder crackles overhead, the nearly black rainclouds matching the storm within her breast, and the noise swallows his words, but she can still catch the irritation behind them as he gesticulates wildly. Though nowhere near his level, she's gotten better at controlling the weather. Judging by the fierce determination in his eyes, the challenging posture, she's fairly certain he understands the message.

His jaw flexing in frustration, he swipes a hand through his wet hair. Thick raindrops fall fast and heavy, but he doesn't seem to care.

They stand at opposite ends of the clearing, their gazes locked.

Seeming to make up his mind, he takes a deep breath, strides across the clearing, unclasps his cloak, and wraps it around her shoulders. Before she can protest, before she can thank him, he turns and stalks away wordlessly. She's left staring at his retreating form and wondering whether this is all they'll ever be – just two people trying desperately to ignore their hidden desires, just two ships passing each other in the middle of the raging sea.

The eleventh, she stops counting.

It's all lust and sweat and skin on skin, and his kiss is enough to set her heart on fire and erase all coherent thoughts from her mind. Her lips sear with his touch; his fingers trace tingles along her spine, raising goose pimples on her arms. He murmurs in her ear, his breath warm in the cold night.

And she's falling before she even realizes it.

Afterward, when Merlin slides an arm around her waist and she stares at the ceiling to avoid his eyes, she waits for the guilt to come. She waits for the euphoria coursing through her veins to dissipate and for the guilt to flood into her heart in its place.

But it doesn't come.

Merlin's arm is warm across her stomach, his callused thumb drawing light circles over her ribcage, just beneath her breast, and she's almost afraid to acknowledge the beautiful, suffusing feeling within her chest.

So instead, she turns onto her side, away from him, and closes her eyes.

"Morgana . . ." he murmurs.

"Go to sleep," she tells him gently, feeling generous because she's letting him stay, because she didn't leave the first moment she had the chance.

Merlin, just because he's Merlin and has to do things his way, obliges, but presses a soft kiss to the back of her neck before settling down to sleep.

She knows she should leave before he gets the wrong impression, knows he should get back to Camelot before anyone discovers he's missing, but she can't bring herself to move out of his embrace.

And in the morning, before dawn, with the sun's faint purplish rays just beginning to stretch out over the sky, Morgana sits up in bed and looks out the window. This has gone on too long, but she's already deep in it. She's waded into quicksand, no hope for escape.

Before long, she feels him sit up and slide a hand to her lower back.

She lets out a sigh, hating the way his skin feels so glorious against hers, hating the way she's let him back in so easily, without even demanding an apology.

He poisoned her, and here she is, letting him in like he's the oxygen she needs to survive.

"I should hate you," she states calmly.

He doesn't say anything, just sidles up behind her and rests his chin on her bare shoulder.

And she can feel him. She can feel his inhalations as he breathes in the scent of her hair, she can feel the puffs of air against her neck as he exhales, she can feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest pressed to her back. She wants to sink into him, to lose herself and never look back.

But they both have lives. They have duties, responsibilities. She has a sister who would set the Knights of Medhir on her should she ever find out about Merlin. He has a prince who would have his head if he knew he was sleeping with the enemy.

With a frown, she takes his hand in hers, twines their fingers together. They've always been from two different worlds, but she's never felt so close to him – or so far.

She turns her head, and her lips are nearly touching his when she whispers, "No one can know."

Morgause, in an effort to convince her that she's not a prisoner like she was in Camelot, lets her roam about the countryside. She even gifts her with a horse, and Morgana spends her afternoons riding about in search of meaning.

One afternoon when she's feeling particularly wild and restless, she rides farther than she means to, finally stopping when she comes across a modest, run-down cottage, tucked away in the sprawling hills.

It's abandoned, maybe because of the plague, maybe the purge, or maybe the toils of life simply grew too hard, but when she steps cautiously through the rough-hewn front door, she sees a life she's scarcely allowed herself to dream of. She envisions a husband and wife sitting down to sup together, working in the garden plot side-by-side, turning this place into a home.

True, it's dilapidated, but she can't ignore the intense sense of belonging that fills her when she walks the creaky wooden planks. The feeling overtakes her, starts in her bones and radiates outward until she can think of nothing else. This place will be more of a home than the castle ever was, than her current dwelling with Morgause currently is.

She returns the next week, tentative hope in her heart, and brings Merlin with her. Hands locked, they stroll around the cottage and around the meager fields surrounding it.

"A safe haven?" he asks quietly, threading his fingers into her hair.

She nods. "What do you think?"

"It's perfect. But . . ."

"But what?"

His lips twist as he thinks. "It's far from Camelot. It will take me a long time to travel. The longer I'm gone, the more likely my absence is to be noticed."

"I think I can help with that."

Morgause has been teaching her how to bend space, how to travel a league in a matter of seconds. She takes it upon herself to teach him in turn, and, within a few weeks, he can travel from Camelot to the woods next to the cottage almost instantaneously. She's secretly delighted that it takes him so long to learn, because it's one thing she can do better than he.

Soon enough, their stolen moments are stretching into entire nights spent in one another's arms. Merlin enchants a necklace for each of them, the iron amulet burning warm when one of them is at the cottage. As winter ebbs and melts into spring, this time with him starts to feel more real to her than the life she has with Morgause, the life in which she plans for her enemy's downfall.

She knows that her sister suspects where she spends her time away from the castle, but as long as she doesn't bring knights of Camelot into their hideaway, she's not going to make a fuss, especially when Morgana's smiling more often than she ever did before. If it were anyone but Merlin, she wouldn't trust him this much. Even so, it's not as if she spills secrets to him while she's curled up against him and her guard is lowered.

In fact, at first, she misleads him purposefully, to test him. She feeds him wrong information, or lets slip their plans and waits to see what will happen. But nothing ever goes awry. Knights of Camelot never barrel down upon them in the midst of a mission; not even a detail of Morgause's minutely-laid-out arrangements is out of place.

Hesitantly, she begins to trust.

The more she opens herself to him, the more tempered her wrath becomes. She loses focus on revenging herself upon Uther, loses that aching need for retribution. He fills her with a tranquility she didn't know she possessed.

When he kisses her, there's a piece of her heart that starts to believe that this isn't so impossible.

There's a tiny pond just over the hills behind the cottage. They like to sit out on the bank in the evenings to recover after an exhausting day. They sit side by side, their backs against a tree, hands entwined, and just talk.

He rests his head against her shoulder and she runs a hand through his hair comfortingly.

"What's the matter?" she whispers.

"I'm afraid that one of these days, I won't be able to leave."

She presses a kiss into his hair. All she wants to do is to take off and run with him, but she knows he'll never get rid of the guilt if they do. He has a place in Camelot, a destiny at Arthur's side, and she could never ask him to give that up. This cottage is all they can ever hope for.

"I know," she replies quietly. Letting out a soft chuckle, she says, "There may come a day when I won't let you."

"I don't like leaving you alone."

"I'm not alone. I know you don't trust Morgause, but she cares for me. She's my sister, you know. Well, half-sister. But it's nice to finally have family again."

Merlin picks his head up to look at her and says, "Uther and Arthur were your family."

She hears: I was your family.

"Uther was my captor," she clarifies, lifting a hand to his cheek.

And you, my murderer, have saved me.

He presses a kiss to her lips, and she can feel his smile.

"This is going to work," he promises.

She nods. Not knowing what the future holds for them, she can only have faith in him.

Morgana hugs her arms to her torso as she traipses around the cottage in the darkness. The long summer grass tickles her feet, and moonlight spills onto her hair, falling in waves down her back. As she's completing her third pensive turn, he appears in the doorway.

The thing about Merlin, something she adores about him, is that he recognizes when she needs space.

Clad in only sleep trousers, he yawns and steps out into the grass. Silvery slivers of moonlight fall onto his bare shoulders, making him seem even paler than he already is.

"Chilly tonight," he remarks, rubbing his arms and coming to a stop in front of their meager vegetable patch.

Morgana nods absently as she turns slowly on her heel and stares at the ground. He's standing there patiently, but he's nibbling at his bottom lip, and she knows he's dying to ask what she's thinking of.

Standing up straight, she gazes at him across the garden. "I had a dream," she confesses.

His shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly, but he says nothing.

"A daughter," she breathes.

Merlin, his eyes narrowed in surprise and confusion, takes a tiny step forward and asks, "What?"

"I saw our daughter, and she is . . . she's beautiful."

He looks down at his feet, and in the moonlight she can see the way his shoulders heave as he calms himself.

Perhaps she should not have told him.

Lifting his chin, he says, "Marry me."

Now it's her turn to be surprised. Her head snapping up, she gapes at him. "Wh-what?" And within a second, resentment floods into her veins. "I didn't tell you so you could do the honorable thing, Merlin. I don't need your pity. If you don't want a part in this, then –"

Merlin shakes his head and hurries around the garden to take her hands in his. "No, no, no," he protests, "you don't understand. I didn't mean . . . I mean, this is . . . Morgana . . ." He trails off incoherently, his laugh coloring the night.

She runs a thumb along his cheekbone, unable to keep a smile from her lips. "You're not making any sense," she teases.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry," he laughs, grinning, threading his fingers into her hair. "But the thing is, Morgana, the thing is that I want this. I want this so much I'm afraid that I'm going to burst. I didn't want to think about it before, didn't want to admit that I wanted it, but if you've Seen it –"

"Is this really what you want? Or are you asking because it's what the future holds?"

He swallows, takes a deep, calming breath. "I'm asking, Morgana, because I want a world where I don't have to pretend to not care about you. Because I began to think of you as my wife a long time ago. . . . I see the way Arthur loves Gwen, and I know he loves her in his way, but I also know that this –" He clutches a fist over his heart. "this is a thousand times stronger."

Sighing, he lets his shoulders sag and looks at her helplessly. "My heart beats stronger when I'm around you, as if you're my very life force. But I thought . . ."

"You thought what?"

"I thought you'd think it was silly. You put no value in things like marriage. I didn't want to ask if you'd just laugh at me. Besides, we have enough trouble keeping up a secret relationship. How could we hope to keep a marriage secret?" Frowning, he rests his forehead against hers. "But, Morgana . . . if we are going to have a daughter . . . surely that means something to you."

"Yes," she breathes against his lips, "it means the world."

And it means that she was right to put her faith in him. It means that, after all the mistakes she's made, even after what he did to her, he's been her one good thing.

"You mean the world to me," she tells him.

Smiling, he kisses her and replies softly, "I love you, and you're right – our daughter will be beautiful, just like you." He presses a kiss to her forehead and each of her closed eyelids as he says, "Beautiful, and brilliant, and kind."

Morgana smiles.

Maybe she can't go back, maybe she can't right the wrongs she's done or cleanse the bad blood between her and those she used to call family, but she – they – can beget a new generation and forge a bridge between their worlds.

She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down for a kiss, because here, with him, she can feel the current of truth behind all the chaos. Tonight, she's taking his hand and stepping away from the future she's been forced into.

From now on, she makes her own destiny.