A/N: I realise this was a bit slow in the making - sorry about that! I don't have an excuse, really...

Anywho, I haven't posted since last week's Merlin, what was everyone's thoughts on that? I loved Mithian, and I can't wait for the next episode? Possible magic reveal...(which is to say, it won't happen for another 1000 episodes)

Thanks for reading!

Morgana stirred. She laid still, her ears pricked, wondering what had woken her. There was a strange scuffling noise.

Hesitantly, she opened her eyes a fraction. Through the crack, she saw a figure scurrying about the room. Lifting her head slowly off the pillow, she observed the shape with her head cocked.

"Merlin?" She asked, a playful lilt to her voice, like she was taunting him.

The young man gave a start, spinning round to face her. There was a flash of gold in his eyes, but she blinked and it was gone. Shaking herself slightly, she fixed him with a beady glare. "Why is my breakfast not ready?"

"Y-your..." He trailed off, his voice cracked and strained.

"My breakfast. You'd better make it fast or I won't hold up on my word to keep you alive."

"Y-yes, my Lady." He gave a sharp bow and left, his arms clamped by his sides and the hands at the end of them balled into fists.

The soles of Arthur's boots looked as if they had been chewed by rats; they were so scuffed from his relentless pacing. But he wouldn't change them. He was still dressed in his armour, with bruise-like eyes that would have suggested he had been involved in some brutal bar-brawl (much more befitting to Gwaine).

Liquid slopped over his mail as he carelessly glugged down his umpteenth bottle of ale. With force enough to knock out a man, he slammed the drink on the table and buried his head into his hands. What was wrong with him? He was a wreck – he didn't sleep, he didn't eat – and the kingdom would fall apart without its King.

Merlin was just a servant – nothing more. But Arthur couldn't lie to himself. Merlin was so much more. Through everything, he had been there, by Arthur's side. Sure, his skills could well be beaten (a blind man could probably clean his armour better), but his loyalty was unmatched. He was Arthur's one true friend, his one real ally. The scrawny boy with a strange liking for neckerchiefs that had turned up at Camelot all those years ago, threatened the then-Prince Arthur and then saved his life, was now a grown man, and the only that could get away with calling his King a clotpole and a dollop-head.

Scraping his fingers down his face, Arthur opened his eyes and stared blearily around the room. The hazy fog that enshrouded his mind was steadily clearing, mutating into a deep, burning desire for revenge. Morgana. She had done this. And all to get at him, at Arthur. Merlin was innocent, and he may well die for his loyalty.

Shoving his chair back and launching to his feet, Arthur strode out the room in search for his knights. They were to ride with the dawn.

Heavy footsteps blasted through the corridors as Merlin stormed through the castle. He didn't know how Morgana had gotten a castle, and he didn't care. His nails dug into his palms and he tasted bitter venom on his tongue. What had he ever done to her? Hadn't they once been friends? To think, he had once harboured actual affection for her, more affection, indeed, than just a friend!

The kitchens were deserted and Merlin blindly shoved whatever he could get his hands on onto a platter. He considered for a moment poisoning it, but even if he had poison, there was a part of him that held him back – perhaps the same part as Morgana had holding her back.

As he lifted the plate, he suddenly paused. He thought he could hear something – a kind of...whimpering. Setting the dish down, he moved slowly towards the source of the sound. Resting his hand on the door, he took a deep breath and pushed it open.

Stairs descended into an abyss of darkness. "Forbearnan." He whispered and flames burst into life on his palm. A small pool of light fell over his path and he hesitantly began down the steps.

When he reached the bottom, nothing could have prepared him for what he saw next.

A skeletal figure, with white scales clinging to its bones, was curled up on the floor. Wasted wings folded over its body. As the light bathed it, it raised its head and looked straight at Merlin.

"Aithusa." He choked.

The dragon gave a small screech and opened her mouth to spurt a jet of flames at him but all that escaped was a puff of smoke. She cowered back against the wall as he took a step towards her.

"Aithusa...what happened to you? Did Morgana do this to you?"

Aithusa made a strangled noise as she tried to speak, but no words escaped her. Pain piercing her eyes, she nodded her head.

"Can you not speak?" Merlin asked, his breath catching.

She stared at him for a long second then, out of nowhere, sprung towards him and tried to fix her jaw around his neck.

Throwing her back with magic, he glared at her and shouted, in the dragon tongue, "I command you to stop. You must obey me. You will not attack me again."

Aithusa gave a whimper of terror and crept back. The power of his voice made her entire body tremble. She had no choice – she had to obey him.

Merlin stepped away from her and swallowed against the lump in his throat. How Morgana had found Aithusa, he did not know, but he would not rest until she was free.

As he turned to climb back up the stairs, he found himself staring straight into a pair of bright green eyes.

Gwen tip-toed along the shadowed corridor, wincing as her shoes rang against the stone. Voices echoed somewhere nearby and she dived behind a pillar just as two guards rounded the corner. They passed her by, completely unaware, and she slid out behind them. Waiting until their voices died, she stole away.

She pulled her hood over her head as she crept through the streets. If she was seen, she would either have to escape and raise the alarm or reveal her identity and raise suspicion. Better to do neither.

Her horse was waiting for her outside the gates, her having fooled the stable-hand into believing it to be for her servant. Leaping onto the saddle and kicking the stallion to life, she cantered away from Camelot, into the forest.

The only person that saw her go was a girl standing staring from her window – Sebile watched the Queen's dark outline be engulfed by the night.