OHHH OHHH MORGANAAAAAA. Gwen would totally be all over that, wouldn't she?

I have to write this for you. I have to.

Okay, here we go:

---

A shift of shadow against shadow, darkness only a shade darker than night, and Gwen knew who it was - knew it immediately and irrefutably, as surely as she knew herself.

"M-morgana?"

No sooner had Gwen uttered the name than a hand was clamped over her mouth, gloved in the coolest leather. A familiar body pressed against her back.

"Shh," said Morgana, and Gwen could swear she caught the glint of a knife out of the corner of her eye. "Be quiet, little mouse. Or would you really like to be my prey?"

Gwen gulped. Shook her head. It felt so strange, knowing that this was a woman, too - so unlike what a woman was meant to be - so strong and masterful and fierce. She could never have imagined it, but the shape of the body behind hers was unmistakable. As was the predatory hunger in that grip.

"Good," whispered the assassin, and released her. "Remember what I told you. Give away my position at any time, and my next target will be your father."

Gwen turned to face Morgana, meeting those night-shadowed eyes. She lifted her head proudly. "And I've told you," she returned, "not to threaten my father. He has nothing to do with this."

"You're a maid in the Pendragon castle, and my only living witness. Of course he has everything to do with this."

"Why didn't you kill me, then? That time, when I first caught you sneaking in?"

"Damned inconvenient, you are." A certain wryness was distinguishable in that quiet, cultured, Irish voice. "More attentive than anybody else in this cursed place."

"Answer my question," Gwen said stubbornly, wondering if she was perhaps suicidal for saying this, but something within her simply had to know. "Why didn't you kill me?"

"Hm." The dark head tilted. "A dead body would be a - well, not to make light of it, but it would be a dead giveaway, wouldn't it? They'd seal the castle doors. My life would become immeasurably inconvenient."

"Oh." Gwen's shoulder's sagged. She was being silly, wasn't she? What other reason would an assassin have, for sparing an unimportant and easily threatened maid?

"Besides," Morgana continued, stepping close to Gwen and cupping her chin once again, "you are such a pretty little mouse." A gloved finger ran the length of Gwen's jaw, making her shiver. "Skin soft as a child's," Morgana murmured. "Hair as soft as down."

Gwen felt her breath stutter. A coil of heat - as uncomfortable as it was strange - curled in her belly. She'd never liked the way this woman called her a mouse, as if she were a lesser thing, like a play-toy or merely prey - but now Gwen understood, because she couldn't move under the sharp glitter of Morgana's eyes, couldn't look away from that snakelike gaze.

I am acting like a mouse, aren't I? Gwen realized, appalled.

"L-let go of me," she said, refusing to give in. "Or I'll scream."

"I can't say I'd mind hearing that," Morgana chuckled. "What you sound like, that is. When you scream." A last brush of those gloved fingers against Gwen's throat, making that coil of heat in Gwen's belly curl even tighter. "Good night, little one," said Morgana, fading into the darkness again. "Sleep well."

And that was all.

Gwen stood there, strung-up and breathless, straining for the sound of the slightest footfall - but she heard nothing. Odd, that Gwen had sensed her so easily before... Did Morgana make herself deliberately known when Gwen was near? No, of course not. That would be careless; no assassin would be that foolish.

She debated telling Arthur. It hadn't taken much, after a week of constantly meeting Morgana on her rounds, for Gwen to realize that the prince wasn't the assassin's target - it was the king, given the way Morgana spoke of him with hate, and tended to show up nearer to Uther's quarters.

Why does she hate him so much? Gwen pondered, before shaking off that thought. It didn't change anything. What did it matter, if an assassin had her reasons? Morgana was a killer. And, tyrant or not, Gwen couldn't just stand by and let a man die.

It might put her father in danger; it would definitely put Gwen in danger. But she had to do something about this. Gwen couldn't be a knowing bystander to someone else's death. She'd already delayed matters enough. What if Uther had already been killed by now? What if the guards had been late one of their patrols this week? Morgana could've slipped in easily, had that happened even once.

The only puzzle was why Morgana had revealed herself at all - why she insisted on meeting Gwen like this, night after night, when it was obvious that a single word from Gwen would ruin Morgana's plot. Why was Morgana so sure of herself? And of Gwen? The way Morgana acted, so blindly confident in herself, almost made Gwen wonder if she really could read the future.

But that was ridiculous. The assassin must've been making fun of Gwen, that first night in the corridors, by saying something so unbelievable. Magic - as Uther maintained - didn't even exist. How, then, could Prophecy?

If Morgana truly could see the future, Gwen assured herself, she'd never have let me live. Because I am going to stop her. Somehow.

'Sleep well,' Morgana had said.

I will, Gwen thought to herself, turning towards Arthur's quarters. Once I've cleared my conscience of this.

---

OMG I AM SORRY I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF. YOU EV0L SPAWNER OF BUNNIES, YOU. :O

And yes, that crazy story with the loincloth-wearing Spartans and a pregnant Merlin makes perfect sense! It's wonderful how these things make perfect sense, really, after we've smoked a certain quantity of high-grade fannish crack. :D

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥!

Dangerous!Morgana rocks. I take pride in my role as enabler, yes yes.

There's just something about that beautiful Irish accent lilting a death threat...

I know, I know. I have a problem. :D