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Between them, Gwen and Morgana were able to half-carry, half-drag Arthur to the ramshackle cottage they had found. To manage it at all, they had had to leave his armor behind where he had fallen, a mile or more down the way, but he was still heavy and worryingly unconscious. Neither of them knew where Merlin had gotten off to after Arthur’s injury, only that they needed four walls around them in case the manticore came back for more blood.
“Oh, thank the gods,” Morgana said when they reached the door. The cottage was clearly vacant, rot apparent even in the dim moonlight. Weeds and brambles imposed past the edges of the forest clearing. The two women set Arthur on the ground, then put their shoulders against the door over and over until it gave, swinging creakily inward on loud hinges.
Gwen heaved a loud sigh at the black interior. “We’re going to need some fire before we go in.”
“Do you think that will attract the manticore?” Morgana asked, looking back and forth from the door to the dark forest.
“If it’s already after us, the fire can’t be more of a draw than the blood,” Gwen said.
With that practical perspective in mind, Morgana set about helping Gwen make a torch and strike a fire. Sans flint, it was a challenge, but Morgana had learned woodsmanship from her father, and she set her concentration on the flame taking form until, suddenly and almost despite itself, the torch flared to life.
Gwen gasped. “We are incredibly fortunate.”
Morgana considered their ill-fated journey through the woods, the manticore attack, Arthur’s injury, Merlin’s disappearance, night falling and the cold air setting in, and the likely state of the cabin once they went inside. “Oh, yes, so lucky,” she said.
“Don’t be sarcastic,” Gwen said, flicking Morgana’s ear then soothing it with a cold thumb. Morgana felt herself settle. She ran her knuckles softly across Gwen’s jaw, supposing it didn’t matter if she smudged dirt there. They were both a mess.
“Careful with the torch," she warned. "Don’t get burned.”
With firelight, things went faster than before. Finding the one-room interior of the cottage in better shape than the outside, except for some bugs that skittered away out of sight, Morgana and Gwen got to work making Arthur comfortable in a far corner. They made a pillow out of their petticoats and Morgana covered him with her fur coat before Gwen had a chance to sacrifice her own good wool shawl. This resulted in an argument that lasted longer than it might have had they both not been exhausted and hungry. In the end, they sat close together, between Arthur and the door, and shared the shawl. Morgana almost hoped Arthur wouldn’t wake up and see them huddled together while he lay under a fur. The fight that would start.
But it was good to sit down with their legs criss-crossed over each other and Gwen’s head resting on her shoulder.
“Do you know, this is awfully familiar?” Gwen said after a time.
“We do seem to get into the worst misadventures with these two,” Morgana said.
“No, what I mean is, today specifically is very similar to a dream you told me about.”
Two years ago, Morgana had never told anyone what she saw in her nightmares. They did happen to resemble things that later took place, and that was how rumors of magic got started, so she kept the images and uncanny stories to herself. Then two years ago, she and Gwen began to share a bed. Given the nightmares, it was probably a bad idea for Gwen to spend the night, but Morgana had been swept up by their intimacy, and lonely without her, and so she’d warned Gwen what could happen and asked her to stay anyway. Gwen being Gwen, she had stayed. And then further being herself, she had held Morgana through nightmares night after night, and spoken with her about them in the dark without fear or suspicion, with a calm sensible curiosity and comfort, so that after a time Morgana began to think of her nightmares instead as dreams.
“I’m afraid I don’t remember this one,” Morgana said. “Do you know how it turned out?”
“I believe the manticore dies,” Gwen said. “Merlin is involved somehow. I think he kills it?”
They quietly considered the unutterable likelihood that Merlin was this very minute battling a manticore to the death. His disappearance at the same time as the terrible beast had certainly not been subtle, but it was a comfort to hear she’d dreamed he survived.
“Morgana,” Gwen said, with an air of choosing her words carefully. “I sometimes think I don’t know why Merlin stays in Camelot. But then, of course I know.” She poked Arthur gently with the toe of her boot. “If Uther ever finds out….”
“Yes, it’s anyone’s guess what would happen.” It would put Arthur in the worst position, to say nothing of the danger to Merlin.
“Merlin isn’t the only one I worry about,” Gwen admitted. “I would say don’t go lighting fires or having prophetic dreams, but I don’t think you can help it. And perhaps you shouldn’t have to. We’re much warmer with the torch, and we were able to check the cabin for wild animals before going in. I don’t see why there should be a problem. But… others won’t ever see it that way, and if you were to be hurt I don’t know what I’d do.”
Morgana tightened her arm around Gwen’s waist. “Camelot is your home, Gwen. I won’t ever ask you to leave it, and I won’t leave you behind either.”
Gwen pulled away just far enough to look Morgana in the eyes. Their noses scraped each other as she spoke. “I’ll go with you wherever you’re safe. There has to be a place like that.”
Morgana thought about their options, her family’s farthest estates and how she could come into legal possession of them. “Gwen, do you mean it? Everything you know is here. Your father, Merlin and Arthur. Everything I know too, for that matter. We could stay hidden in plain sight our entire lives in Camelot. Everyone already thinks you’re still my maid--”
“It could all go away at any sudden moment,” Gwen said. “And you know you and Uther will clash one day and never come back from it. If we leave soon….”
“We could. Leave in just a matter of years. My mother left me a keep in the west. It’s abandoned, maybe has a small garrison living in it. I could assert my claim and build it back up. We’d need a blacksmith, I’m sure.”
Gwen threw her arms around Morgana, toppling her onto the floor amid the dried-out rushes. They kissed, soft lips and tongues pressed close against each other, hands clutching shoulders and waists.
“It is so cold,” Morgana finally said, sensing they should stop now or risk wanting to take things further. Gwen stood up, helped Morgana follow, and then chafed Morgana’s fingers. “Was this in my dream too? Us deciding to leave Camelot?”
Gwen was quiet. “Not exactly. You were mostly asleep one night, telling me your dream as you dropped off. Just an impression, really.” She paused to breathe warm air against the tips of Morgana’s fingers. “You told me about feeling safe, waking up every morning feeling warm and wondrous. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”
Morgana had to wonder at the mechanisms of fate and prophesy. She remembered that confession, buried under thick blankets with Gwen pressed close, stroking her hair. That had been all she’d been describing, the safe, warm, wondrous feeling of being with Gwen. And now Gwen, mistaking it for prophesy, had turned it into even more. Incredibly fortunate, indeed.