It happened suddenly, and with no portents. Though in hindsight, Gwen remembered the sudden surging tide, whipped into wrath by a relentless, rainless wind, and wondered if the elements had spoken after all.

The four of them were sharing a rare moment of ease. Arthur had hunted some fine game, and Merlin had secreted herbs from Peadar’s head cook, so that the small kitchen was fragrant with herb-dusted meat. Even Morgana seemed momentarily cheered, a hint of her old smile in her eyes as Merlin baldly claimed that Arthur would surely perish if ever left to his own devices in the woods, since his prepossessing hunting skills would avail him little when he barely knew how to boil his own water.

“It’s true,” Merlin insisted, as Gwen tried to stifle a laugh, “Remember that time you lost that wager against Leon and had to cook a chicken? I do believe you’re the first chicken midwife in Camelot.”

Gwen laughed out loud as Arthur directed an impressive collection of oaths at Merlin, vowing to keep him ear-deep in stable muck for the rest of his career as manservant.

A sudden gasp from Morgana made them stop. She struggled to her feet, one hand clutching the under-swell of her swollen belly, only to double over in pain once more.

Gwen made to steady her, and noted the unmistakable streak of reddish fluid pooling by Morgana’s feet.

Arthur stood up, looking between the women’s faces as Gwen helped Morgana to a chair.
”What is it? What’s happening?”

“What do you think is happening?” Merlin retorted, gathering empty water-buckets, “Don’t stand there like a clot that’s swallowed a pole, help me fetch water from the well.”

“Since when do you give me orders?”

“Oh, I don’t know, since someone is about to have a child and you’re being as much help as a sack of potatoes.”

“I am not - ,”

“Enough! Both of you,” they both jumped at Gwen’s clear directive, “Morgana needs our help. Merlin, fetch as much water as you can carry. Arthur, gather some firewood. We’ll need hot water, and lots of it.”

Morgana groaned, her body convulsing, and to Gwen’s horror another, thicker, bloodier gush of fluid pooled by her feet. She gathered Morgana’s hair off the clammy neck, holding her shoulders tight as the pain rode her, “It’s alright, breathe. Breathe.”

She looked up to find Arthur and Merlin staring, fearful and uncertain. “Go!,” she  ordered, and they jumped into action.

The night wore on.

 Gwen wiped the sweat from her brow as she braced Morgana’s shoulders for another pain. She tried to keep the fear and worry from creeping into her voice as she whispered encouraging words. 

Used rags stood soaking in a bucket by their feet, and Gwen felt cold with fear whenever she noticed the blood-crimsoned water. The labour was not progressing in concert with the violence of Morgana’s contractions, and each time a fresh gush of blood soaked the pale thighs, exhausting Gwen’s efforts at wiping them. Merlin had found a rickety old screen in one of the closets that they had erected around the women to protect Morgana’s modesty.

Her friend was growing weaker, Gwen noticed with alarm. Her skin was feverish wet, a horrifyingly stark contrast to the blood streaking her splayed thighs.  In between contractions she lay glassy-eyed, as though she could barely summon the energy to moisten her lips.

“I’ll get you something to drink,” she mopped the blood trickles on Morgana’s legs and tossed the rag in with the others.

Arthur and Merlin both started when she stepped out from behind the screen, their faces sobering at the sight of her blood-spattered gown and weary face.

“How…how much longer…?” Merlin’s eyes searched her face desperately.

Gwen pulled the two of them aside, ensuring Morgana could not hear, “I’m worried…the labour makes no progress, and she’s losing blood,” she swallowed, then looked in Arthur eyes, “ I fear this is moving beyond my skill…I’m not sure what else I can do to help her.”

Arthur thought for a moment, “I can ride for the castle, bring the royal midwife.”

“Arthur that’s too dangerous,” Merlin interjected, “ What if your father - ,”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t prefer to see her dead, Merlin.”

Merlin said nothing, though Gwen sensed his unease. He knew something. She realized then that perhaps Merlin’s secretive shyness concealed a larger truth.

Arthur gathered his cloak and she handed him his sword, “Be careful, Arthur.”

He touched her cheek briefly, caressingly, “I will.”

Then he was gone.

Gwen helped Merlin distil the herb concoction Angelica had given her, and poured the contents into a small cup.

“Drink this, dear,” she spoke soothingly, bringing the cup to Morgana’s lips, “It will help ease the pain.”

Morgana grasped the cup with trembling fingers and drank. For a moment she grew still, then the cup fell from her slackened hands as her head lolled backwards.  Gwen made to revive her when her eyes flew open, and their sudden green light cut like ice.  She growled, and hurled the liquid herbs out her lips in a stream of vomit.

“Get away from me!,” her voice was deep and unnatural, and Gwen gasped, stumbling backwards.

“Gwen?’ Merlin’s asked worriedly from the kitchen.

Morgana stood, seemingly unaware of her bulk and the newly streaming blood, “Treacherous whore! You will not put your filth in her again.”

And Gwen knew, that the child had long been self-aware, had long been looking through Morgana’s eyes. Angelica was right.

Morgana’s fierce cold gaze turned to Merlin, “And you,” her voice lowered to a soft menacing purr, “Emrys,”

“Morgana…,” Gwen tried to approach her, but Morgana’s arm flashed out, catching her across the face and throwing her against the crumpling screen.

She had a brief glimpse of Merlin’s shocked expression as he rushed to her side, then the cottage door slammed open, and she looked up, dazed, into the face of Uther Pendragon.

The next few moments were a blur. Merlin was hurled aside, and Uther yanked her roughly to her feet.
”What is the meaning of this?” he hissed.

“She knows nothing, milord. Merely an impetuous woman.”

Melwas.

He was flanked by two of his men, and one of them held a terrified Aili by a knife at her throat.

“I am trying to help her,” Gwen retorted. But Uther was looking away already, his face blanched as Morgana stepped out from behind the shattered remnants of the screen, face veiled, nightgown a wash with blood, lip curled in a snarl.

“By the gods…”

Suddenly the room plunged into darkness, and the windows gusted open with winds that Gwen knew, instinctively, were not natural. Aili’s scream gurgled into sudden silence, and the candles relit themselves.

She was there. Standing behind Morgana in whispery robes of grey-black, her hair a serpentine halo, eyes gold and centre-less.

“We meet again, Uther Pendragon.”

The stalwart King looked suddenly aged, “No…no it can’t be. Get away from her!”

He made to draw his sword, but the woman merely blinked and Uther was sunk to his knees, face clenched in agony.

Melwas cowered behind his men. Aili lay dead, her throat slit.

The woman advanced on Uther, “How dare you speak of my sister to me.”

Gwen saw a chance and rushed at Morgana, determined to pull her away, but the sorceress was too quick. She had Gwen by the throat, her grip cold as snake-coils.

“Ah, yes, Arthur’s little may queen. I should snap your neck now, presumptuous slut.”

But her grip loosened, and she lurched forward as if in pain. Gwen coughed, gasping for breath as the room swam.

“You will not harm my friends.”

Merlin’s voice. But…why had the sorceress released her?

Morgana cried out, falling to her knees, and the scream that escaped her throat was the product of no human agony.

Instantly the sorceress was beside her, robes wrapping around Morgana like bird wings. Wind howled around them once more, borne on a writhing darkness, blinding them.

Then just as abruptly, the room grew silent.

Even in the darkness Gwen could see: Morgana and the sorceress were gone.