Breathless from running, Guinevere rapped urgently on Gaius' door.  A few guards ran across the courtyard in a flash of silver mail, and she prayed the shadows would not reveal her. She knocked again, and Gaius opened the door, his face creased with worry.
"Guinevere?' he ushered her inside and closed the door, "You shouldn't be out of your chambers, milady. There is an intruder in-," he trailed off when he noted her fearful expression, the way her fingers trembled as they clasped her shawl.
"What is it, Gwen? Did you see something?"
She jumped at the sound of footsteps behind her, only to find a dishevelled Merlin holding a candle, face as concerned as Gaius'.
Words seemed to choke in her throat and she shook her head, trying to make sense of what she'd seen, even as her mind recoiled from the hideous image.

Gaius put a comforting hand on her shoulder, "What is it, child?"

Gwen glanced at Merlin, and it was clear he suspected the truth, "Was it Morgana?"

She nodded slowly, "She's different, I sensed it when I arrived here, and I know it now."

Gaius took a deep breath, "Merlin, start the fire. Sit down, Gwen. Tell us everything."

****

***

Heavy and contemplative silence lay between them while the candle burned low. Gaius and Merlin exchanged a glance.
"We've...suspected that Morgana might have a secret connection to Uther for some time now," he sighed heavily, "And now this confirms it."
"The throne of Camelot," Merlin said tonelessly, "It's what Morgause wants, and she's using Morgana to get Uther and Arthur out of the way."

Gaius frowned, "I don't think we can absolve Morgana of responsibility, Merlin. She has obviously agreed to perform the blood magic, just as she agreed to bear and birth that child."

Guinevere could swear she caught a flash of anger in Merlin's eyes, "She was frightened and alone, all those years living under Uther's thumb while her magic awakened. And now she's learned that he lied about her parentage."

Gwen mused on this sorrowfully, recalling the increasingly anguished tone of Morgana's last letters to her. "I wish she had trusted us more," she said sadly.

Merlin stood up abruptly, running a hand through his short hair, "Who knows what lies Morgause has filled her with these last two years, and even before that, in dreams and visions? From Morgana's perspective, the Pendragon bloodline has betrayed her, while her sister from Gorlois offers a chance for vengeance," he smiled without humor, "Morgana never took an insult lying down."

Gaius turned to Merlin, "Whatever her motives are," he said gently, "her actions are threatening the stability of this kingdom. It's our duty to protect Camelot, Melrin. You know this."

Merlin gave a short, bitter laugh, "Of course. I know it well."

Gwen stood and put a comforting hand on his shoulder, "I care for her too, Merlin. She is like a sister to me. I want to believe that we can help her."

"As do I, believe it or not," Gaius enjoined, "I've cared for Morgana since she was a child. But I'm afraid she's entangled in affairs far greater and darker than she realizes. And if we do not prevent her from becoming a tool for Camelot's destruction, I fear there can be no salvaging the Morgana we once knew." He paused, "There are some things that can't be undone, blood that never washes out. I would spare her that, if I could."
He seemed suddenly tired, an old man bearing the yoke of the past, and Gwen remembered her mother's whispered stories of the Great Purge, the fire and the blood and the children drowned and the spirits grown malevolent among hastily dug graves and piled carcases. Gaius would have been much younger then, in the prime of his life really. What memories  lay down with him at night? 

"I don't understand something," Merlin began slowly, "If Morgana is affecting Uther through their shared blood, then why isn't Arthur affected too?"

The physician looked thoughtful and alert again, "I think I know, but I can't be certain. Merlin, do you still have that token Arthur gave you before you battled the Questing beast? The one with his mother's sigil?"

"Of course, I'll fetch it."

The token was an old medallion, round as the disc of the full moon, smooth and bright as metal, heavy and cool as stone lain deep in the earth. Gwen touched the sigil with wonder, a rose with wing-like petals, curiously intricate.

"I believe this sigil would confirm my theory about why Arthur remains immune to the blood magic, " Gaius stood, "and offer us a cure for Uther."

Merlin glanced at Gwen, then back at the sigil, "What should I do?"

***

The castle guard had doubled since the mysterious intruder. Gwen followed Merlin as he slipped skillfully between pillars and nooks, quiet as shadows in the light of day. He's done this before. Plenty of times.
 She thought of the many times she had evaded Peadar's guards to steal moments by the seashore, and the fateful Midsummer night they had slipped out to celebrate with the villagers. So much fear, so many secrets. Would it ever end?

They finally reached the library and Merlin turned to face her, "I have to warn you, Geoffrey is about as interesting as a wet dish rag."

Gwen bit back a giggle, "Merlin, I grew up in royal courts, remember? Conversing with dish rags while making them feel important is practically a trade."

He grinned, "Good. Just keep him engaged for half an hour. That should give me enough time to break into the vault."

She nodded, "Good luck."

The library was in desperate need of dusting, and if the smell of musty parchment was anything to go by, a thorough rearranging as well. Gwen affixed a suitably humble smile on her face and approached Geoffrey's desk. He looked up from his writing, "Is there anything I can assist you with... milady?"

The tone of his voice suggested carefully veiled impatience, catching her off-guard, "Good day sir. I..umm, I was hoping you could help me locate a manuscript - ,"

He interrupted, "The library of Camelot houses no artifacts of the Old Religion. I'm afraid you won't find anything of use here, lady Guinevere." 
He doesn't like me. He seemed to almost resent giving her the title. No. Not me. What I represent. My people.

Gwen forced another smile, "Actually I was looking to learn more about the history of tapestry making in Camelot. The skill of your weavers is without parallel. Do all the ladies of the court learn?"

Geoffrey narrowed his eyes, "Some. Others inherit the craft from their mothers," he paused and surveyed her, as though ascertaining her truthfulness, then with a heavy breath he shuffled to his feet, "Very well. I'll show you where you might find a book or two. But I warn you there's little information here," he added pompously, "Libraries such as this one have far more important matters to chronicle, milady."

"I'm sure," she chimed in with false cheer as he lead her into the dusty shelves. She glanced back just in time to see Merlin ducking in through the door.

Perfect.

***

Half an hour and one tortuously condescending account of library history later, Guinevere took leave of Geoffrey with A History of Spindlecraft and The Weavers of Shallot tucked under her arm. She was glad to be away from his cold presence. Wary of being followed, she glanced about discreetly before hurrying across the courtyard to Gaius' quarters. 
Merlin was there already, pouring over the volume he had secreted. It was an old, dusty tome, but the leather covering was unspoiled and richly textured, and small green jewels glittered along the edge.

"What are we looking for?" she moved her skirts aside to sit down beside him.

"The meaning of Queen Igraine's sigil. Gaius says it's important we know for sure."

They turned the heavy pages in silence for a few moments, until they found it. The sigil was indeed a full-blown rose, yet the petals were drawn with such craft they appeared light and poised like wings. At first glance it was an intricate blossom, but at closer scrutiny the shape appeared to shift slightly, like bird-wings unfolding in flight. It's history and lineage ran six pages long, reaching back to the times when even the High Priestesses were but girl-children amid the first dawn of the Holy Isle. Gwen drew a breath as they read on.

Whosoever is born upon the breath of the Rose, the power and protection of the Blessed Isle shall flow in their veins also. Blood magic may not corrupt them, and their blood shall be as the Light of Avalon to the Dark Fire.

She reached into her bodice and drew forth Arthur's ring, looking closely at the markings. Sure enough, she could discern the faint outlines of a rose with wing-tip edges. Merlin glanced over at it and she blushed suddenly.
"Arthur gave it to me before...in Eirinn, when we said goodbye. He said it belonged to his mother."
They met each others eyes slowly as Gaius walked in, sombre-faced from attending Uther, and Gwen hastily tucked the ring away. He glanced at them before turning his eyes to the page.
"Ah," he said softly, "It is as I suspected."
"Gaius...," Merlin pressed him as he sat down, "Does this mean what I think it means? Queen Igraine...was she a sorceress?"

Gaius shook his head, "No, Merlin. The Queen wielded no magic, but the blood of the First Priestesses flowed in her veins. Now it flows in Arthur's."

"That's why the mandrake magic hasn't affected him," Gwen spoke in slow realization, "And he has no idea. All his life his father has taught him to despise the teachings of Avalon, yet the very blood in his veins is blessed by the Holy Isle."

The physician nodded, "Blessed, and protected. And if I'm correct, a small infusion of his blood will suffice to drive the enchantment from Uther's veins, and give him the same protection."

"But is it a protection he deserves?' Merlin whispered, "All those years...the lives lost, the people torn apart. Why should Uther receive the protection of Avalon?" Angry tears glittered in his years, "This is what Kilgarrah meant: Arthur and I are two sides of the same coin, we both have Avalon in our veins. But I must hide from him, lie to him, keep silent about our shared destiny all because of Uther, because of the hatred he has sown."

Gwen felt a surge of empathy for her friend, dear bumbling fiercely loyal Merlin, forced to bow his head under the scorn of those whom he could destroy with a mere blink of his eyes.
And Arthur...lied to about his mother's lineage, taught to hate the ways of her people, prevented from acknowledging his only sibling in the world. Sudden anger flared in her heart too. What right did Uther have to receive the protection of Avalon? 

As if in a dream she remembered those fearful days in Eirinn, Morgana's ghostly eyes, Angelica's warning, the sense of being enmeshed in a web of fate too intricate for mortal eyes to fathom. She remembered too her own words to Angelica. The Heart of Avalon does not withhold compassion, even from those who seek its destruction. I will not abandon my friend.

Gaius was looking at Merlin, understanding yet solemn, "I believe it is Arthur's decision to make. We must tell him the truth...or at least the part he needs to know to heal Uther," he amended.

Merlin nodded, "What should we tell him about Morgana?"

"Nothing. Until we have proof and clear knowledge of what she intends to do and how she plans on doing it, it's our word against hers. And the last thing we need is to lose Arthur's trust when he's clearly in danger."

"My dear," he turned to Gwen, "You were once her trusted friend. She may yet regard you as such, and if so you might learn from her what Morgause intends. She must not know we suspect her true allegiance."

Guinevere nodded, but there was a faint bitter taste in her throat, the metallic tang of loss. Oh Morgana...what happened to us?

Gaius stood, "I must find Arthur. The procedure should happen soon, Uther is already greatly weakened."

***

Mother, you must be strong. The King will die soon.

How much longer Mordred?

Soon. Soon everything we dreamed shall be ours.

I do not know my dreams anymore.

You dreamed me, remember? And I came alive inside of you.

I  dreamed fire. Dark fire.

We are destined to restore the Dark Flame. You, me and her.

What of Emrys?

His identity is yet hidden from me. But I grow stronger each day. I shall See him soon.

And Guinevere? And Arthur?

Dust and ashes, Mother. Dust and ashes beneath our feet.

***

Guinevere paced the hallway leading to Uther’s chambers once, then twice, then a third time. Almost two days since she had helped Merlin sneak into the library, Gaius was about to transfuse some of Arthur’s blood into Uther. She had asked Merlin how Arthur fared, but it seemed the prince had taken the information about his mother’s lineage taciturnly. And now, he was poised to save the life of a father who had lied so much, harmed so many.

Part of her felt foolish and presumptuous for wanting to speak with Arthur, to offer him comfort. The other half remembered their exchanged words in the moonlit garden, beside the withered roses of Igraine Pendragon. Each time I faced death on the battlefield, your face was the one that flashed before my eyes. The memory of you dancing is branded in my mind like fire, you enchant me without any magic.

Gathering her courage, she strode down the hallway. Leon and Gwaine were the knights posted at the door, and they greeted her courteously. Gwaine managed to flash her a roguish grin, and she found herself smiling back. His infectious charm was a welcome relief from the likes of Geoffrey.

“I would inquire after the King, sirs.”

At that moment the door opened quietly and Arthur stepped out. He looked a touch paler, and there were sleepless circles under his eyes.

“Guinevere,” he sounded surprised, then turned to the Knights, “You may go. Thank you.”

“How is he?” she asked urgently, formality forgotten when they were alone.

Arthur led her to a corner against the pillars, glancing about to ensure no eavesdroppers, “Gaius is hopeful. The transfusion went well, I think.”

“Good,” she noticed the haunted look in his eyes, “What is it Arthur?”

“Perhaps Gaius has told you already. My mother’s blood…”

“’It’s an honour to boast such lineage,” she said gently, “ And now it will save your father.”

“At what cost? How do I trust a father that would keep such secrets from me?”

Gwen struggled with her own dislike of Uther, “I’m sure he had his reasons for keeping you in the dark. Perhaps after his recovery you can ask him, he might be more willing to share the truth now.”

Arthur ran frustrated fingers through his bright hair, drawing her eyes there longingly.

He really should stop doing that in my presence.

“And how do I trust myself, when the blood of sorcery runs in my veins?”

Her face changed, and he knew he had said the wrong thing.

“I know what you would say: that people wield magic, and that the wielder decides its use. But all my life I’ve been told otherwise, I’ve seen otherwise.”

“And what about now?” she asked softly, “When the blood of those who once practiced magic could save your father’s life?”

Arthur was silent, and looked troubled.

Guinevere pressed on, disappointed and almost angry, “ The night we met, those innocent people killed…could I not say that all swords are evil, that they should not exist? Yet your sword came between death and me. Why then can’t you afford the Old Religion the same consideration?”

“How do I know what is truth, and what is illusion intended for deceit?” he asked quietly, just as he had two years ago on a stormy night in a small cottage. Gwen swallowed, momentarily lost in the memory of that night, his lips crushing hers as though he could never have enough, and her body singing to his tough through the sheer chemise.

“Trust your heart,” she whispered, “Trust what you know is good, and true.”

He looked almost lost for a moment, the light shining translucent through those blue eyes, and Guinevere longed with all her heart to him in her arms.

“How do I tell them? The people? The court? My Knights? How can Camelot endure, if hypocrisy is attributed to its throne?”

She stepped closer to him, her anger vanished at the sight of his conflict. “It will endure as it has always done, with the love and faith of its people. The courtiers may say what they wish, the people will know and love their king. You will unite them.”

Gwen suddenly realized her words, “I mean, when you’re king. And I’m sure they respect your father too. I didn’t mean to imply…I mean, the people seem to love you already and - ,”

She’s so lovely when she’s nervous.

“Guinevere,” she stopped speaking at the sound of her name, and looked up to find Arthur smiling faintly. His hand came up to cup her face, running his thumb over the soft curve of her cheek.

“Thank you,” his fingers dropped lightly to her chin, and she could feel her pulse flutter wildly.

They jumped apart as the door opened behind them. Gaius stepped out.

“The King is awake, sire.”

***

News of the King’s recovery spread through the court, and no sooner was he was able to sit up in bed, than a celebratory feast was prepared.

The Great Hall swarmed with ambitious courtiers come to wish the King well, mead flowed freely and the warm flowery air of ripening spring drafted over the room.

“What do you say, Arthur? The Rising Sun, tonight?” Gwaine took a long drink of mead.

Leon chimed in, “I hear they have a new brew, something from the South I think.”

Gwaine grinned “I hear they have two new maids serving the drinks.  Pretty girls, Southern ale…come Arthur we’ve been training our arses off for months now.”

The prince shrugged, nursing a barely-touched glass of mead, “ You may go if you wish. I have council matters that need attending. The king is not yet fully recovered.”

Leon nodded understandingly, but Gwaine persisted, “Even you need a night off, Arthur. Some strong mead and a kiss or more from a sweet wench should cheer you right up. Honestly old friend, if I were you and every woman in the kingdom was panting to lie with me…well, let’s just say council matters won’t be what I take to my bed every night,” he added archly.

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Thank you Gwaine for the horrific image of you running the Kingdom. The royal coffers would be emptied of gold within a fortnight, and filled with pickled eggs instead.”

At that moment, Lady Guinevere walked past them, her hand barely resting on Lord Melwas’ arm. She seemed like a vision of spring in seafoam green, a red rose in her dark hair and an elegant neckline skimming the honey-coloured throat and elegant shoulders. She glanced in their direction with a brief smile, then drew her eyes away suddenly, like a deer startled by the threat of an arrow.

If Leon and Gwaine had kept their eyes on her a few seconds longer, they would have missed the sudden change in Arthur’s face, his sombre gaze following her graceful form. And in that instant they began to understand why Arthur no longer jested with them about courtly love, why he barely noticed the pretty women at his beck and call.

They finished their drinks in silence.

Across the room, Geoffery of Monmouth was deep in conversation with the convalescent King.

“What are you saying Geoffery?”

“I’m merely suggesting, sire, that in the light of recent events, it might be prudent to ensure Camelot’s future through allying with another kingdom.”

Uther nodded slowly, his fingers trembling slightly as he grasped his goblet, “What would you suggest?”

“Milord, you might remember our long dispute with Nemeth over the lands of Gedreth. I hear the Princess Mithian is quite beautiful, and charming besides…”