It didn't take Gwaine and Lana very long to be welcomed into the castle as the latest participants. Most of the servants and other occupants of the castle considered Gwaine with morbid but slightly hopeful expressions, and he thought he heard a few of them whisper, "Could he be the one?"

He looked at Lana and whispered, "They're staring at us."

"They think you'll be the one to figure out what's happening to the princesses," Lana replied in the same tone. "Relax. Act natural."

"How is one supposed to do that?" Gwaine asked honestly. He'd never been very good at "acting natural".

Lana laughed. "I can tell," she said. He made a face. "What? It's true! You look like a deer facing the hunter's arrow!"

"I don't really have much of an opportunity to be 'normal' in Camelot," Gwaine protested.

Lana raised her eyebrows. "First of all, don't go talking about Camelot in other Stories!" she hissed. "That's just going to get you unwanted attention. Second of all, leave all the talking to me. I'm your servant, remember? You're a high-class, arrogant noble."

"I look like a peasant," Gwaine muttered. "Look at me. I haven't bathed in days."

Lana elbowed him in the side. "You can do it when you get to your room. Remember, don't drink the wine the princesses give you at dinner!"

"How could I forget?" Gwaine said. "You keep reminding me."

The bard had the grace to smile. "I suppose you're right," she agreed. She touched his shoulder. "I guess I'm just worried about you. Emrys seemed so upset when you were missing."

Gwaine sighed. "He's always worried about me. You'd think he was the older brother instead of me. I don't even have the excuse that he was born first to blame for his having magic—err, I mean, our parents' talents."

"Magic doesn't make happiness," Lana told him, looking perfectly serious for once. "I should know. I just got mine and I hate it. I think you're lucky, not having it. I bet Emrys thinks the same thing as well."

Avoiding Lana's gaze, Gwaine stared at his feet. Maybe she was right. Maybe magic wasn't the key to happiness. But sometimes, it felt like it was, when his parents doted on his sorcerer brother and spent almost all their time teaching him new spells. She didn't understand. Lana nudged Gwaine with her arm. "I think this is your room," she said. "Go on, go ahead in. I'll see you later, after you eat with the princesses."

Gwaine stared at her as if she'd struck him with lightning. "Wait, what?" he cried. "Aren't you going to be there?"

"Of course not," Lana answered. "A servant wouldn't escort her master to dinner when his host is supposed to be supplying him with the servants. Don't worry so much, Gwaine. It's going to be fine, as long as you don't—"

"Drink the wine the princesses give me, I know," Gwaine said with a sigh. "Thank you for all the help." He put as much sarcasm into his voice as possible.

The bard gave him a sweet, teasing smile. "It's my pleasure," she said.

Gwaine felt bad. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I'm glad you're here with me, of course."

She winked at him. "Don't apologize. You're my master, after all." With another teasing grin, the oddly cheerful bard skipped off down the hallway.

. . . . . . . . . .

Since there was little Eve and the others could do until they received word from Lana and Gwaine, Emrys conjured some money for them and they rented two rooms at an inn in town. Once they were there, Eve enjoyed a bath before heading to the dining room to eat. The good thing about magic was that it made money not a concern for them.

To her surprise, Morph was sitting at one of the tables in the dining room, his hair mussed and damp from his recent bath. She argued with herself briefly before deciding to sit next to him. It would be easier asking him about their possible relation by themselves instead of with the others. He raised an eyebrow when she sat across from her. "Hello, Eve," he said. "Your hair is doing some interesting things."

Eve tugged on a curl, holding it out to look at it. He was right, unfortunately. The dampness from her bath had made her black hair unbelievably wild. But that didn't mean she appreciated him pointing it out. "That's not what I came over to talk about," she snapped.

Morph raised his other eyebrow. "So I assumed. But if that's not what you wanted to talk about, what did you want to talk about?"

Breathe, Eve. Just ask him. I mean, honestly, what are the chances that what you saw was real? Eve took a deep breath before raising her eyes to him again. "Morph, I had a dream last night."

That got his attention. He leaned forward. "I place great store in dreams, being the god of sleep and dreams myself," he said. "What did you see?"

Feeling rather silly, Eve nevertheless told Morph about her dream, leaving out the fact that she recognized Ewan as her uncle. He listened intently, never interrupting. Once she had finished, he leaned back, his face reddening. "I know what you saw," he mumbled. "My parents."

Eve leaned back as well. "Then we really are related."

Morph's head shot up and he stared at her. "What do you mean?"

"Ewan Andric is my uncle," she explained. "It could only have been him. Which means ... we're cousins."

The young man's shoulders fell. She could see his wings twitching beneath his cloak. "Yes. We're cousins."

"And your real name," Eve persisted. "It's Raphael?" She figured the more questions she asked him, the more likely he would be to open up to her. The less lies between them, the better.

Unfortunately, bringing up his real name only seemed to make Morph more uncomfortable. "Y-yes. The only male counterpart to Rachel my père could find."

"Do you really speak French?" Eve asked.

"Only occasionally. My mother taught me, but I don't really do it. Just as a joke, or to throw people off." Morph shifted uneasily. "Father sent me from Final Death to find Rachel and warn her—Nimueh was going to change The Story in ways nobody could predict. By destroying the Guardians, she would essentially leave it defenseless."

"But nobody would want to destroy The Story," Eve protested. "Would they?"

"It depends. Even written in to The Story, the Guardians still protected it," Morph said thoughtfully.

Eve interrupted him. "Written in?"

"Yes. For instance, Merlin was written in to The Story as ... well ... Merlin. He didn't use to have magic or be special at all, really, other than being a Guardian," Morph said. "Anyway, the Guardians are The Story's last line of defense. But they're also a bitter bunch of people. After all, they were stripped of their freedom and in some instances, their memories of being Guardians, but they will never forget their duty. You'd better hope you never run into a bitter Guardian."

Eve's eyes widened. "Why not?" she asked.

"The resemblance to your mother in your face is uncanny," Morph explained. "Any Guardian knows that your mother rewrote The Story—an unforgivable sin in their eyes. They would kill you without pity."

"Oh." Eve stared at the table. "I don't understand why."

"The Guardians' job is to make sure The Story runs properly. As it was written," he said. "Your mother took pity on the people constantly suffering and rewrote The Story, giving them control of their fates instead of having their lives dictated by the words in a book. In effect, she gave them what the Bible refers to as 'free will'. Something that the Editor—the original writer of The Story—failed to give them."

"And they think that's a bad thing?" Eve made a face. "Sounds like they're a bunch of stingy old men who think that everyone has to act in their place. Rather like all of my tutors, actually."

Morph snorted. "Sounds like you've had an exciting childhood," he countered. "I don't envy it, that's for sure. My parents gave me free reign, really. I'm the only person in Final Death who has access to both it and The Story. It's quite nice."

The mention of Final Death had a sobering effect on Eve. "Is Final Death real death?" she asked.

"No ... it's a place where people in The Story go after they're killed outside of their deaths there," he explained. "Like, for instance, King Arthur getting stabbed by Mordred. If he got stabbed by somebody else and died, like your father, for example, he would undergo Final Death."

Eve digested that. "It's not like Heaven, then."

"No. Unless you die there, then you get to be judged by God," Morph said. "I'm sure of it."

"What about Ellen?" Eve looked up at him, dashing away a tear that escaped. "Is she there, with her husband?"

"Most likely. Last I knew, Alan-a-Dale was still there," Morph said.

"That's—that's good." Eve swallowed past a lump in her throat. It seemed wrong that they would be reunited, but without Lana. Without their child. "If my mother died, would she go to Final Death?"

Morph shook his head. "Not if she were killed by Nimueh. As far as I know, she's the only one who can force a person past Final Death and completely destroy them. What happens after that is up to God."

Eve stared at the table, tracing the imperfections in the wood with her fingertip. There wasn't anything she could say about that. "I just want to save my mum," she whispered.

Morph leaned forward, laying his hand over hers soothingly. "We will," he told her. "Trust me, we will. Do you want something to eat?"

About an hour later, they were savoring a hearty stew with potatoes and beef in it. Eve enjoyed every bite—she'd been eating the dried food Merlin had supplied them with since they had left with him to rescue their parents. The change was a welcome one. Morph seemed to be enjoying it as well.

While she sat there and ate, Eve listened to the conversation at the table next to them. "It's nearly over now," one of the men was saying. "Just a little bit more and we'll be golden."

"That blonde witch is on her last breaths," the other man chortled. Eve's breath caught in her throat, and Morph sent her a confused look. He hadn't heard the discussion, and she hastily motioned for silence. "Nimueh's done her work on her. It won't be much longer now."

The men ate only for a moment more before leaving. Eve grabbed Morph's hand to get his attention, her nails digging in to his skin. "They're killing my mother," she sobbed, the tears she'd been holding back falling now.

It took her a few minutes to explain everything she'd overheard. "Don't worry," Morph said, though he looked rather worried himself. "We'll get to her before they kill her. We'll do it, don't worry."

It would have been reassuring if it didn't sound like Morph was trying to reassure himself as well.