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Camelot - The reign of His Majesty Uther Pendragon

Arthur raced through the castle halls, catching panicked glances as staff, soldiers and diplomats alike leapt aside at the sight of the crowned prince stampeding in their direction. He couldn’t be bothered to apologize in his haste. He needed help, even should it mean revealing his darkest and most precious of secrets. There was only one option, one person he could trust—the very woman he was meant to marry.

Princess Guinevere was the epitome of what an heir to the throne was to seek out in a future queen. She was radiant, kind to a fault, and headstrong enough to keep a king in check. Arthur had held no reservations regarding their betrothal when his father sat him down to discuss the arrangement three years past. He was proud to be the suitor her father had agreed to in the end, and there had been many suitors indeed.

The glances shared between Guinevere and Sir Lancelot, his friend and most trusted of knights, had not gone unnoticed, however. The flush on the man’s cheeks when he forced himself to look away was apparent. Arthur was not foolish enough to imagine that their secret rendezvous under the cover of night, sneaking away into the stables or even the Brecilian Wood were anything other than a desperate need. For he knew all too well what such clandestine longing asked of those under its spell.

“Gwen!” he shouted, storming into her chambers on the second highest floor of the castle, nearly frightening her poor handmaiden to death.

“Arthur?” She rose from the vanity beside her draped bed, mirroring the fear in his heart with the concern on her face. She was a vision, as always. Flaming red locks were woven in lavish braids, and a blush, satin gown caressed porcelain, freckled skin. “What’s happened?”

“It’s-” he choked, eyeing the maid nervously.

Gwen turned to the woman with a nod, dismissing her, and he let out a breath in relief. Gwen gripped his shoulders, urging him on.

“It’s Morgan,” he said quickly, “Something’s come over him, Gwen. We were training. I noticed he was starting to look pale, but he told us not to worry. I turned my back no more than a second and he collapsed. He’s burning up. I thought to summon the physician, but…”

“You fear it to be magical, not physical.”

Arthur nodded, swallowing hard. “He doesn’t get sick, Gwen. Not once in our entire lives have I seen him like this.”

“Merlin?”

He shook his head. “I asked father after him, but the man’s not been in Camelot for a fortnight. There are no other witches in the land, certainly none that would be welcome.”

“Take me to Morgan,” she said sharply, “I’ve sat in on his studies often enough. Perhaps his books will have answers for us.”

“He’s…” Arthur bit his lip, casting a worried glance over his shoulder. “He’s in my chambers. I didn’t want… anyone intruding.”

Gwen searched his face for a moment. Her stare was soft, considerate even, as she nodded with a smile. “I shall retrieve the books, then.”

Arthur clenched his fists, lost and light-headed.

Gwen squeezed his shoulder gently. “He will be alright, Arthur.”

They hurried out of Guinevere’s chambers in opposite directions. Arthur resumed his hurried pace back to his room, his mind swimming with his worst fears.

Guinevere is right. He’s the strongest person you know. Nothing will stop him coming back to you.

The moment his chamber door closed behind him, he raced to his bedside, dropping to his knees. The sullen, sweat coated figure of his best friend—his Morgan—lay still, drawing ragged breaths with the trembling rise and fall of his chest. His undershirt was soaked through, wetting the sheets beneath him. His brows were clenched in silent pain, and those pouty lips were losing their color.

“Morgan…” Arthur whispered, lacing his fingers into a limp, clammy hand, “We’ll figure this out. I swear it. I will not let anything happen to you.” He leaned forward, nestling his face into the crook of Morgan’s neck. The smell of salted fever and dirt from the training field clung to his skin, but the soothing scent of a storm on the horizon lay beneath. “Please. Please come back to me. I… I need you.”

“My word, how many times have I told him I will gladly organize his study for him?” Gwen barreled into the room, laden with a massive stack of books.

Arthur immediately pulled away from the bed, his skin prickling and his chest throbbing in terror.

“But no, no. Morgan prefers his mess the way it-”

Arthur’s eyes shifted between her and the bed, uncertain how much of his display she’d witnessed.

Gwen heaved a deep sigh, setting the books on a table beside the fireplace. She puffed a laugh through her nose and turned to latch the door. “Arthur Pendragon, now is not the time nor the place to deny yourself.”

“What-” he fumbled, “Whatever do you mean?”

She eyed him knowingly, snatching the book on the top of the pile before trotting to kneel at his side on the floor. “You truly believe us all blind to it? How the two of you lose yourselves when the other enters the room? The constant innuendos your conversations are riddled with that you think we don’t hear? The way that nothing and no one would ever dare threaten Morgan for fear of what hell the Prince of Camelot might unleash upon them?”

Arthur swallowed the heart in his throat. “We’re… surely we’re not that unbearable.”

Gwen giggled softly. “I fear so, my darling husband to be.”

He met her eyes at the brazen acknowledgement of the situation they were in. “How- how long have you-”

“Myself?” Gwen bit her cheek. “Nearly a year now.”

Arthur’s eyes swelled with shock.

Gwen nodded. “Please don’t be upset with him, but Morgan and I have traded many a secret over far too much wine. I know you are not unaware of my love for Lancelot, and I suppose it was easy for us to confide in someone who shouldered their own sordid burden.”

Arthur turned his gaze to Morgan, sadness flooding him. “A burden? I… I never meant to…”

“Do not be ridiculous, Arthur.” Gwen gripped his arm. “You are his very reason for living, but you must understand how difficult this is for him. Uther already loathes him. The kingdom is terrified of witches. If anyone that meant ill discovered your secret, it would lead to far worse consequences for him than it would you.”

Arthur clenched his eyes shut. “I would never let anyone hurt him. I would die before they laid a hand on him.”

“I know that,” she said, “but his fear runs deeper than yours. Arthur, he… he was absolutely broken the day you first kissed.”

“His name day…” Arthur whispered, “I asked what he wanted for a gift… he got cocky and told me I had to give him something precious—something no one else could possibly give. When it crossed my mind, I only meant to silence the little imp… but…”

“He worried you might never look at him the same way again,” Gwen said, “He was resolved to be whatever you needed of him, however. Your friend, your ally, or more, but he never let himself hope for long. Not until you came to your senses and admitted what you did want.”

Arthur sat, lost in thought. It had been terrifying, coming to terms with what his heart asked of him. The prize, however, the light at the end of that tunnel, though it may still lie in the distance, was so very much more than his bravery deserved.

“Does anyone else know?” he asked, frightened of the answer, yet steeled to face it no matter the cost.

Gwen pursed her lips. “Yes. Lancelot pried it out of me, but he is one of your best friends, you know he would never do anything to bring you pain. Elyan has been away so often these days, maintaining contact with our father in Knucklas, but I see the way he smiles at the two of you when he joins us here in the castle. Percival has made plenty of remarks that suggest he knows, but that man adores chaos. He is most certainly rooting for the two of you. And I fear there is no way Gawain remains unaware. Nothing escapes that one’s attention.”

“You don’t think he would tell-”

“Agravaine?” Gwen laughed darkly. “Most certainly not. Gawain always hopes for his brother, but he is not foolish enough to give that man any more wood for the fires he seeks to build. Those that know are those that know you, love you, and would do anything to see you happy.”

With a bright smile, she placed three fingers over her heart to display their sign, a silly symbol Morgan had devised when they were children. At the time he had told them that it was an ancient fae secret that would grant them magical strength and protection. The lie had certainly given Arthur a much-needed confidence boost, allowing him to take first place in a dueling tournament against a boy nearly twice his size. After Morgan had admitted to his scheming ways to receive endless taunting from Arthur, the gesture became an endearment between them and their closest friends—reminding them that they need only look within to succeed.

Arthur let out a shaking breath at the sight, pulling Gwen into his arms. A weight he had shouldered for far too long had come loose, and his lashes filled with tears as Gwen held him tight. He wasn’t alone. He and Morgan weren’t alone, nor had they ever been.

He turned his attention back to Morgan, releasing Gwen to do as his heart pleased. He pressed a gentle kiss to the man’s still lips, tenderly brushing a strand of hair black as night from his forehead. “I love him, Gwen. I would give it all away—my crown, my kingdom—if it meant we could be together.”

“Does he know that?” she asked softly.

Arthur cast a startled glance back at her. “I- I think so. Gods know we spend as much time in each other’s arms as we are able.”

Gwen sighed, shaking her head. “Have you told him, Arthur?”

He turned back to Morgan, watching his eyes flutter beneath the lids. “I was too scared to say it aloud… until now. A part of me hoped he would say it first.”

She huffed another sigh, chuckling. “Camelot is truly doomed.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he growled indignantly.

“You are the gods-damned prince, Arthur,” she scoffed, “If you say it first and he is unable to return that love, the repercussions for you are nothing in comparison to what they would be for him. It must come from you.”

His chest tightened at the truth in it. For all his attempts to empathize with those below his station, he continued to misunderstand the way life must be through the eyes of the one that mattered most. Morgan had never done anything to make him question his devotion, and in the short time that they had sought comfort in one another, that devotion had only grown. He pressed his forehead to Morgan’s with a whisper. “I love you, Morgan le Fay—my heart, my home, my every sunrise—with all that I am.”

Morgan took a deep breath beneath him suddenly, a mumble escaping from his fitful sleep. “Arthur…”

“Gwen!” Morgan shouted, searching for a weakness within the magic that sought to squeeze the life from her, “Hang on! I can break this!”

“I’m… sorry…” she rasped, “I tried… I tried so hard, Morgan… Aaron…”

“Shut up!” Aaron yelled, dropping to his knees beside her, holding her up as she retched, “You are not getting out of this without explaining yourself, you hear me, Alexandra?”

Gwen gasped raggedly through a laugh. It was an eerie, awful sound that made Morgan’s chest ache. “I can… still take you, Jones. Don’t… kid yourself.”

“Stop,” Morgan choked as memories of his dear friend flooded his mind, “Stop… doing that. That thing you do- pretending everything’s normal while you suffer. You always let your needs take a back seat. You would joke and do everything you could to make us smile while you were hurting. Focus on breathing, Guinevere. I will break this fucking curse and then I will shred the witch responsible with my own hands.”

She laughed one sad, heaving laugh. “You remember…”

Morgan’s eyes snapped to hers, staring deeply. “I remember. I remember you, Lady Guinevere.”

Something in her heart shifted at those words. He could feel it in the way the magic recoiled around her.

He pressed on, “I remember the way you held me close when I broke down the night after Arthur kissed me for the first time, scared for my life and heartbroken that I might never get to kiss him again.”

Gwen’s eyes swelled as he spoke, and the magic snarled beneath his fingertips.

“I remember the look on your face when I came to after that fever. Arthur, asleep on top of me after days of fearing that I may never wake. How worried he was, how he hid us away while I recovered just so he could be close without alerting the rest of the castle.”

Tears trailed down her cheeks as she laughed. “He was so scared… when I caught him holding your hand. Our silly prince… thinking no one knew. I was so glad… to finally clear the air and just… talk. Too bad it took… that febris hex on you… to make it happen.”

Aaron smiled wide at the story he had both lived and never known, burying his face in Gwen’s shoulder.

“Three days of sweating and fawning from Arthur? Worth it,” Morgan said, chuckling, “And then we told Lance! We told him we’d stop the marriage arrangement, whatever it took! We told him the two of you could finally be together and that we’d fight to the death to make it happen!”

Gwen clenched her eyes tight, tears breaking free in waves. “I miss him so much, Morgan.”

“I know…” Morgan moved forward, cupping her face in his hands, resting his forehead against hers. “I know, Gwen, but I need you to think of him. I need you to think of yourself right now. Lady Guinevere, stubborn, headstrong and the bravest woman I have ever known. You’ve put me and Arthur before yourself for far too long. Remember everything this curse has taken from you…” He placed a kiss to her forehead. “And fight back.”

Gwen tensed beneath his touch, and the magic surrounding her, concealing her and locking her away, screeched. If it had been anyone else, this spell would have been permanent, rendering the life it had stolen dead to the world. Not her, though. Not his Gwen. The curse began to crack, faint lines of green light glittering across her skin, and Morgan reached out again.

He coiled his fists in the air, seizing the curse like a flailing serpent, thrashing against a predator it intended to make its prey. His eyes lit like fire, forcing his power into the magic, consuming its malicious intent with his own will. Gwen cried out, the curse latching on like thorns as Morgan pulled with all his might.

“Lex…” Aaron whispered, bracing her in his arms, “No. Gwen… you’ve given me so much, and not just in this life. Do not think for a second that because Morgan and I found each other that you’re done here. You send this shit packing, got it? Just like those Reapers.”

“Finally…” Gwen growled through the pain, “You admit I kicked ass.”

“You were great…” Aaron broke into a grin, “For a princess.”

“Oh!” Gwen bellowed, the agony in her face shifting to rage, “This princess saved your ass, Your Majesty!”

The curse’s grip faltered. Morgan roared, sending a surge of his magic into the spell. The green that crackled over Gwen’s skin flared violet. Morgan wrenched his fists backward, and Gwen gasped. A sound like shattering glass filled the air. Soft, glittering particles of light began to fall like snow, and Gwen collapsed into Aaron.

“Is she okay?” Daphne called over, clutching Shane’s arm in a vice grip that had the man wincing.

“I’m…” Gwen heaved, brushing locks of deep red out of her face, “I’m good. I’m- holy shit.” Her emerald eyes sparkled with tears as she clutched her own hair between her fingers. “I’m me.”

“Guinevere…” Morgan dropped to his knees, reaching out to take her hand. “My Gwen!”

“Oh, Morgan!” She leapt forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, sobbing and shaking with her face buried in his chest.

He clutched at her back, still trying to convince himself that she was real.

“My sweet, sweet, Morgan!” she sang, “I knew you were still in there somewhere! I wanted to tell you the second I found you here!”

“I know…” he rasped, holding her tight, “I know you did. I didn’t recognize our sign. I stared right at it in the hallway when you came looking for me. At the hospital too. I noticed it, but…”

“It’s okay,” she said, pulling back with a tilt of her head and a sad smile. Aaron shifted uncomfortably behind her, edging closer on his knees when Gwen hooked her arm through his, tugging him forward with a surprised yelp. “Get over here, dumbass.”

“Why does he get a hug and I get manhandled? Womanhandled? Handled?” Aaron grumbled.

Gwen laughed, wrapping him up in a tight hug of his own.

“Okay, this is weird,” Aaron said, hugging her back hesitantly.

“Oh, shut up.” Gwen chuckled. “How is it any different than learning your boyfriend is old as dirt-”

“Hey!” Morgan whined, glaring,“Sitting right here!”

“Or that you’re a king of legend that fell in love with a man, a witch no less, and flipped the kingdom on its ass?”

Aaron growled, pulling back from the embrace. “Yep, it’s you. Still coming out swinging with that ridiculous logic.”

Gwen laughed and gave him a soft punch on the shoulder. She looked back to Morgan and pulled him into the hug. Morgan wrapped his arms around them both, holding them tight.

“My boys...” Gwen whispered, “Finally back together. I really did try to find a way to tell you. Once I understood that I could try to get Aaron Jones and Morgan Fell to notice each other, not Arthur Pendragon and Morgan le Fay, I did everything I could think of.”

Aaron leaned back. “How did you get here though? Morgan was put to sleep. I…” He swallowed. “Died.”

Gwen laughed darkly. “Other than the two of you... there’s only one thing I’ve been able to focus on these past five years.”

Morgan and Aaron cast a glance at each other, and Aaron’s brows jumped. “The rifts. The wailing rifts?”

Shane clapped his hands together from behind, startling them all. “Ha! Told you they were real!”

Gwen shot him a nod, took a deep breath, and turned to Morgan. “The day you left camp before sunrise, you remember? It... it would have been the last day we saw one another.”

“Camlann...” Morgan nodded grimly as the fragments of that day settled in his mind, turning to Aaron. “I left in the middle of the night to... cast my spell.”

“I imagine the battle broke out almost right after I vanished, I…” Gwen choked, “didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Morgan reached out, wiping a tear from her cheek.

She dried her eyes, taking a few breaths to calm herself. “Arthur-” She glanced at Aaron. “You did as Morgan asked in the message he left you, and we pressed on without him after... some convincing on our part. You were so upset. You almost called off the peace envoy to search for him.”

Morgan’s heart ached again as he remembered prying himself from Arthur’s arms while he slept, placing a waking message with a kiss to his lips, and sneaking away into the night, not knowing when or even if they would see each other again. Aaron pulled him into his arms, grounding him in the present before he could slip away.

“We rode for several hours after leaving camp,” Gwen pressed on, “Lancelot went ahead to meet Arthur at the front of the convoy. I only stopped for a moment to water my horse when I... heard it... I had no idea what it was, of course, but it sounded like-” She turned to Morgan. “I could have sworn it was... you.”

Morgan raised a single brow. “Me? How can a rift sound like me?”

“We hadn’t seen you since the night before. It sounded like a scream, like someone drowning in horrid despair. All I could think was that something had gone terribly wrong for you. I ran into the woods and… I found it—a roaring black hole in the world. It brought me here before I even had a chance to turn back. I landed in the streets, terrified and lost. I ran down a road, Breckinridge, I think. Someone was standing there in the shadows. I called out to them when their eyes flashed green and...”

Morgan scowled. “The very moment you showed up, someone cursed you.”

“I panicked,” Gwen continued, “I started running in the opposite direction, I don’t know for how long, when I heard a struggle. Someone sounded like they were in pain. I followed it and-”

“You jumped in to help me,” Aaron said.

“I couldn’t believe it, seeing you there in uniform, fighting thugs as if it were any other day,” she breathed, “It wasn’t until I tried to tell you what happened when I realized I wasn’t able to discuss who I really was... or who you really were.” She turned back to Morgan. “I knew you would be able to help me, but I had no way to tell you. And the things people said about you, I-” She shook her head sadly. “I found Aaron immediately. It seemed almost intentional the way the rift led me straight to him when he needed help. When I learned you were here too, Morgan, I just assumed you hadn’t found him yet, that maybe you were still looking for him, but... you never came. I started to believe the things I had heard about your reputation… I was too scared to seek you out until I had no other choice.”

Morgan bit down on his guilt.

You chose to make yourself the scary one. You chose to keep people at bay. Would you have found each other sooner if you had been even slightly more approachable? You could have had them back years ago if not for your own fucking pride.

Aaron squeezed the back of his neck, snapping him out of it. “Stop.”

“What?”

“I know that look, Morgan le Fay,” Aaron chided, “Stop blaming yourself.”

“If I had-”

“But you didn’t,” Aaron cut him off, “You didn’t know. The only ones to blame are whoever made you forget your past and whoever cursed Gwen.” With the look he wore, that of a sad puppy begging for food, Morgan’s frustration melted away.

Morgan distinctly recalled being manipulated by that adorable face one too many times, and he knew he was powerless against it.

“We’re together now,” Aaron said, smiling with his eyes, “That’s what matters.”

Morgan nodded, leaning into the touch as he looked to Gwen. “You meant to go back then? That’s why you started investigating the rifts?”

Gwen sighed, looking away in thought. “At first, yes. Of course I did. I didn’t know what this place was. I thought I’d died and fallen into one of the hells. I did my best to fit in. Dani was so in need of help at her salon that when I mentioned my experience with formal styling—leaving out the part about it being for royal balls and parties, obviously—she offered me a job on the spot.

“I found a cheap apartment down the street, saved up for my implant, and then I started researching. I got so… angry at what history seems to know about us. We’re nothing but stories here. And you’re not the only one that got painted in a bad light, Morgan. As if I could come between Arthur and Lancelot like that. Not that Arthur ever had eyes for anyone but you.” She turned to Aaron. “You tried to wrap your head around the idea of marrying me, but let’s be honest, I never stood a chance,” she said with smile.

“Speaking for Arthur-” Aaron pressed a kiss to the top of Morgan’s head. “Not sorry.”

Gwen huffed a laugh, “It doesn’t sound like there would’ve been much in the way of domestic bliss if we’d gone through with it, according to legend.” She heaved a sigh. “But the longer I was here, the more I read… the more I began to accept that the story of what happened after Camlann held some truth. You told me of your vision the very day you saw it, Morgan—it’s written exactly as you said for the most part—and that you intended to do everything in your power to stop it. I knew this must have been the result of your work, finding both of you here. I knew that Lancelot was gone... and I resolved to do what I could for my friends.”

“Gwen...” Morgan gave her a sad smile, taking her hand. “If there’s a way... we’ll find it.”

She laughed airily. “I know you’ll try. And I love you for that, but no one understands the rifts, Morgan. Fifty years, this world has been trying to figure them out now, and hardly anyone even believes the wailing rifts are real. Not only that, but how many times did you warn us about tampering with-”

“Time...” Morgan sighed. “Yeah.”

“You mess with spatial magic regularly, though.” Daphne said, moving closer to squat on the balls of her feet, “The corridors connecting the Manor, even basic anchors are technically spatial magic. They’re intertwined, aren’t they?”

Morgan pursed his lips. “Technically, but time sort of... forgives shortcuts like that. Trying to directly influence events that have already occurred gets messy, creating paradoxes that resolve themselves however they have to. Bringing something or someone forward, though, from a point where their part in history ends, that’s sort of like… changing your mind. Instead of taking the same route you do to work every day, you take the scenic route. You see sights you’ve never seen before and run into people you normally wouldn’t.”

Morgan looked up to see every single one of them with wrinkled brows.

“Nope.” Shane shook his head rapidly with a pained squeeze of his eyelids. “That makes my brain hurt worse than ‘You fell in love with King Arthur instead of engineering a plot to kill him.’”

Everyone chuckled as Morgan, Aaron and Gwen got to their feet.

“The world might have been looking into the rifts for fifty years, but they didn’t have us,” Morgan said, “It can’t hurt to try, right?”

“Gods save us...” She smirked at him. “That’s the sort of thing you used to say right before all hells broke loose.”

The access door rattled, creaking open once more. Theresa had likely come looking for them to corral them back downstairs before the party ended. He opened his mouth to let her know they were coming when a high-pitched screech filled his ears.

Not a screech, a cacophony; a debilitating shriek that ran through him like electricity, sending him to his knees. He struggled around to see his friends. Daphne was on the ground clutching her hands over her ears, screaming in pain. Shane was racked with agony, his back pressed against the parapet. Frey was writhing against the concrete, beating their fist on the roof.

Morgan turned back to find Gwen unconscious on the ground. Three figures stood behind her, barring their way to the access door. Aaron lunged at the closest figure, throwing them back against the outcropping. Another figure reached out, striking him in the side with a taser. His limbs jerked in pain, his eyes glassed over, and he crumpled to the ground.

Morgan screamed out, stringing curse after curse at their attackers. He tried to set them ablaze, but his magic wouldn’t respond. He roared again, his eyes alight with murderous intent, but he could do nothing. The closest figure, the one that had downed Aaron, approached, sinking to rest on the balls of their feet. Through a mask beneath a dark hood, a muffled voice spoke, “I really have to thank you... Morgan.”

The way they said his name was disrespectful, degrading even. “I was so certain it was him. I spent years studying him, you see. But there was no response. No... spark.” They sighed. “I knew, of course, that I needed to hide him away. I knew that there were others here that might glean the truth before long. But in doing so, Mister Jones lost all connection to his true self. So, of course, my data was corrupted.” They stood to consider Aaron where he lay.

“You will not touch him!”Morgan spat, still unable to move. Still unable to cast.

The figure chuckled menacingly, ignoring him as they prattled on, “And who should come riding to his rescue... but the exact person necessary to wake him up?” They spun back toward Morgan, arms spread. “Then you pulled him back from the brink of death! That wretched bomb almost ruined everything. And to top it all off, you may as well have gift-wrapped him by bringing him up here, out of your magic fortress.” The figure tutted under their mask. “You truly are your own worst enemy, aren’t you?”

Morgan couldn’t feel the pain anymore. Fury was boiling in his blood. The darkness he had held inside him for so long was churning again. Rage set fire to the void within and it crept into his pulsing heart. He wasn’t just going to end this twisted fuck.

He would make them beg for oblivion.

“I really should kill you,” the figure mused above, “But I think I’ll enjoy it so much more when my work is done. Sleep well, little witch.”

And the last thing Morgan saw was a boot coming at his face.