“This is all my fault.”

Gwen wrung her hands, “How could I have been so stupid?”

Merlin shook his head “You can’t blame yourself Gwen. You couldn’t have known.”

She sighed, “Oh Merlin…I was warned. I was warned and I ignored the warning, and now Morgana …and Aili- ,” her voice cracked.

“Who warned you?”

Gwen told him of Angelica, how she had counselled against aiding Morgana’s pregnancy. “I should have heeded her words and asked someone for help, anyone.”

It was four days since Morgana’s disappearance, four days since Gwen was confined to her chambers and placed under guard. She knew the only reason she wasn’t in the dungeons was because Uther seemed more concerned with the golden sorceress who had snatched his ward from under his very nose.

“How is Arthur?”

Now it was Merlin’s turn to sigh, “I don’t know. I think he blames himself. He thinks if he’d stayed at the cottage he could have stopped this from happening.”

Gwen felt a pang of longing for his presence, to comfort and be comforted in his arms. But she was allowed no visitors, and Merlin had only succeeded by pretending to deliver her supper.

As she looked over him, the slump in his slender shoulders and the pain in his eyes, she was overcome with pity and affection. She realized she’d grown to care for him, his humour and loyalty that, she sensed, overlay a secret burden.

“Merlin…why did Morgana call you Emrys? That’s a name in the Druid tongue…”

He raised his eyes, sorrow-dark and almost bitterly proud. They seemed the eyes of some ancient soul, weary with the patient wisdom of pain.  She recalled then how the sorceress released her, suddenly, as though shocked by a blast of magic.

Gwen reached out to touch his shoulder, understanding flickering at the edges of her mind, causing her words to come slow “You were warned too, weren’t you?”

She felt again that sense of shadowy enmeshment, as though every thought, breath and action wove them tighter in a web wherein destiny and choice were inextricable.  Arthur’s eyes skimmed her body with cobalt flame. The torchlight wrapped her skin as her feet surrendered to drums. Morgana dreamed of fire that curled itself into a heart of flesh and blood. And Merlin, clumsy, unobtrusive Merlin, always present at the right time, the right place.

 “Gwen…can you keep a secret?”

****

“Father, this is madness.”

Arthur stood in Uther’s chambers. Guards and servants hurried around them, throwing items in to chests, carrying packed items down to the harbours. They were setting sail for Camelot as soon as the ship was loaded.

Uther strode up to him, a slight limp in his gait from the sorceress’s magic, “I am your King and you will not question me.  We sail tonight.“

Arthur pressed on, “But surely it makes more sense to search for her here. How can we be sure the witch is taking her across the sea?”

Something flashed in Uther’s eyes, but he glanced away quickly. Emboldened, Arthur lowered his voice, “What do you know about this sorceress? Father, I need to know the truth.”

There it was again, that word. Truth. His mind flashed to that night at the cottage, when he felt Guinevere tremble in his arms, barely a breath between their seeking mouths and hungry hearts, much less the divides of sea and kingdom.

When Uther spoke his voice sounded suddenly tired, “Her name is Morgause, a High Priestess of the Old Religion. She’s sworn vengeance on Camelot since the days of the Great Purge, when I vowed to rid the land of the evils of magic.”

Arthur digested this for a moment. His father’s War on Magic had earned him the enmity of many a powerful sorcerer, but this was different.

“But why…,”

Uther was angry and commanding again, “That is all you need to know. Prepare to leave, as soon as you’re ready.”

Arthur weighed his next words carefully. He had pondered them for days, unsure how to broach the subject, “About lady Guinevere…,” he rushed ahead, “I worry for her safety here. Perhaps she should accompany us to Camelot for a time, she might be of help.”

The King looked at him silently, blinking in disbelief, “Do you really think I would offer the protection of Camelot to that traitorous little witch?”

Arthur flinched, determined to keep his anger in check, “She’s not a witch. She tried to help Morgana, you know that.”

“All I know is, if it wasn’t for her ‘help’, Morgana might still be here, with us, safe.”

“You can’t blame her -, “

“Enough!” his voice dropped to ice, “You are blinded by your lust for her. Lust is something her kind trades in. You would do well to remember that.”

Blue fire flickered in Arthur’s eyes,  “I don’t believe Guinevere is like that.”

“I don’t care what you believe.  You should have bedded her and been done if it matters this much to you. I doubt you would have been the first. A virgin witch is like a dog who sings, extremely rare.”

As if from far away, Arthur heard his own voice. It sounded quiet and clear; full of a certainty he wished he felt, “Don’t speak about her that way.”

For a moment the King looked taken aback, as though for the first time taking measure of the man in front of him.  His eyes narrowed. “Choose your next words carefully Arthur. Remember who you are.”

A steely silence fell between them.

“Your majesty?”

It was Merlin.

“The ship is ready.”

****

Arthur waited until they were a safe distance from his father’s rooms. He grabbed Merlin’s arm,

“Go down to the harbour, make sure everything’s in order. Keep my father distracted as long as you can.”

Merlin nodded. He already knew what Arthur wanted, “It’s done. I gave the guards outside her chamber a sleeping draught in their water.

Arthur raised a surprised eyebrow.

“You should be able to say goodbye in peace.”

He clapped his manservant on the shoulder, ‘Thank you Merlin. You’re a good friend. And a true one.”

****

Sure enough, Arthur found the guards sprawled by her doors, snoring soundly. His lips quirked. As much as he riled Merlin for his inefficiency at the simplest tasks, and as much as he was a complete buffoon most of the time, he had a surprising knack for coming through at unexpected moments. Even if he overturned a chamber pot or two in the process.

She stood at the window, half shadowed by the candleflames. When she turned Arthur noticed her anxious grip on her shawl, and the faint glistening tinge around her eyes.  She’d been crying. Something tightened angrily in his gut at that thought.

He approached her slowly.

“You’re leaving,” she said softly.

“I have no choice. My father believes the witch…Morgause, has taken Morgana back to Bretagne.”

The air around them was taut with promise, with unspoken words and furled desire. Guinevere swallowed, willing her misted eyes to drink in every inch of him, his sunlit hair and cobalt eyes, the strong curve of his jaw and the broad set of his chest and shoulders she longed to throw herself against.

“Be careful, Arthur,” she managed, “ She’s dangerous.” Was she speaking of Morgana or Morgause? She no longer knew.

He nodded, his eyes full of a longing she dared not let herself acknowledge.

Gwen tried to smile, “I bid you farewell. And safe journey across - ,”

Arthur swore and covered the distance between them, silencing her with a kiss. His mouth parted hers, determined to absorb the taste of her as her trembling arms wrapped around his neck. It was a kiss of unapologetic hunger, edged with raw desperation. She was enveloped in the strong circle of his embrace, her senses swimming with the scent and taste and feel of him when his tongue plundered the soft insides of her mouth. When he broke the kiss she was shaking and breathless.

“Guinevere…,” Arthur’s voice was ragged, husky, “If I never see you again - ,”

This time it was she who stopped his words, pressing a slow sweet kiss to his lips that stole both their breath with tenderness.

Her fingers traced the sharp edge of his cheekbone, the line of his jaw, “You will. No matter what happens, you’ve given me hope, Arthur…hope for a just future, free of tyranny. Knowing what you’re destined for…it will sustain me.”

He looked down at, wonder and sadness in his eyes, “That first night, when I saw you dancing…I thought I could watch you forever. I had never seen anyone, or anything, so beautiful.”

Gwen could no longer hold back the tear that spilled out. Arthur’s lips brushed her cheek, the corner of her mouth, doing away the moisture there. She felt him press something cool into her palm: a silver ring, double-banded, faint markings on the inside.

“It was my mother’s. I want you to have it. As a token -,”

“Arthur I couldn’t - ” she protested.

His hand closed her fingers over it, “Keep it safe for me.”

Gwen nodded, before flinging her arms around him one last time, “I pray to the gods to watch over you.”

His hand hovered over the doorknob when she cried out, suddenly, “Arthur! Keep Merlin close to you. He’ll protect you, always.”

Confusion touched his face for a moment, then he smiled lightly and bowed his head, “Farewell, Guinevere.”

****

The guards were still fast asleep when Guinevere stepped past them an hour later. The hallways were emptied, all the courtiers gathered on the parapets to see off the royal party of Camelot. Instinctively she hurried her steps, breaking into a run.

She reached the eastern parapets just as the ship trailed slowly away from the harbour, the Pendragon banner shadowed ruby-dark in the torchlight. Her eyes sought Arthur desperately, but there were too many people moving around the decks. Here, on this very parapet, she had first rushed out and seen the ship unfurl its standard on the shores. Here too, she and Arthur swam in the moonlit intoxication of their first kiss.

Guinevere stood there, long after the others had drifted away, and the night-chill settled on her shoulders.

 She stood until the last visible speck of the ship was lost in the dark horizon, taking her heart with it.

*****

    End of Part I