IT SHOULD NOT HAVE come as a shock to Morgana when the door pushed open and the figure that stepped through was not palace staff coming to poke and prod at him until his bones were sore and his skin was bruised, but a certain aggravating idiot that never could stay away.

"Of course it's you," he murmured, looking up at the tired blonde standing in the middle of the dungeon. It almost looked like he belonged there, ready to patronize Morgana until one of them was pulled away by something else of more importance than their angry banter.

Kit didn't look to be in the mood for patronizing, though. His stubble was already growing back in and his feet were bare, and all he wore were loose trousers and a silk robe. The bags under his bloodshot eyes were deeper than normal, and if he didn't know any better, he'd ask the poor man what was bothering him.

"I don't know why I'm here," Kit admitted, amber eyes focused on nothing. He just stood there like a ghost, looking like he was ready to pass out.

Morgana rose to his feet, and the clamoring of his chains alerted the prince, abruptly yanking him from his trance. "Can I help you? I don't think you're in the right shape to be anywhere but a bed."

Somehow, from the very depths of his exhaustion, Kit managed a smug look, and Morgana rolled his eyes.

"Can that bed be yours?" he purred, but he was far too sleepy for it to be at all flustering.

"At this point, I really don't care, but I think you ought to sleep before you fall over and crack your head on the very hard floor," Morgana told him.

Kit eyed the cell, more specifically, the bed of leaves and sticks on the ground near Morgana's feet.

"Actually, can I?" he asked, pointing vaguely towards it. "Sleep on it?"

Morgana finally understood. If he knew Giselle at all, he knew she probably offered them nice, fluffy beds. It occurred to him then that Kit probably didn't do well on a soft feather mattress after all this. It made sense that the makeshift mess on the hard floors of the dungeon would look more appealing to him.

"Alright, fine," he sighed, motioning to the leaves. "If you can find the keys to let yourself in, you're welcome to it. You'll have to put up with me, though."

Kit already had the key, jamming it into the lock and yanking open the door with the swiftness of a man not on the brink of falling asleep standing. He pulled it shut and locked it from the inside and, like an idiot, tossed the key back out onto the stone floor where neither of them could reach it.

"Shit."

"Nice one, Kit," he murmured. "You'll just have to hope they come in to poke at me again early, because we're stuck in here together until they do."

"They've been poking you?" he asked, trying to look concerned. He looked half-dead.

Morgana pointed to the bed. "Doesn't matter, you can worry about it later. Go to sleep."

The prince obeyed without protest, curling up like a baby as he always did.

"Hmm, maybe you should be this tired more often," Morgana murmured. "Then maybe you'll listen to people."

"I heard that."

"Yeah, you won't remember in the morning."

Morgana slid down to the floor, pushing his back against the wall and watching the prince as his breathing slowed into the steady rhythm of sorely needed sleep. He had a lot of things to say about him, but when he was asleep, he could only see a boy, curled up and alone, fighting off nightmares like he fought off everything else. He knew that boy well.

It was hard to tell if that boy was Kit, or if it was himself.

He had no intention of sleeping, but when the sounds of staff returning to the dungeon startled him awake from an unintentional nap, he realized the extent of his own exhaustion. Coming back from the near-dead took quite a toll on him, he had to remind himself.

There came a series of grumbles and demands when the Seelies took notice of Kit there on the bed, but the last thing Morgana wanted was for him to wake up.

"Shut up!" he hissed. "You can still do what you need to do without all this racket, you know. He's just sleeping."

They did, thankfully, and Morgana was poked at once more, his scars studied until they were sore, all the while letting Kit rest. Whenever the prince stirred, Morgana reprimanded them with a glare and silenced them again.

By the time Kit woke up, they were gone again. They left the key within reach, but it would require touching the iron bars to get it, so Morgana had no hope of escaping. He didn't think he'd last long even if he did get out, though.

"You're bleeding," the prince said as soon as he had his eyes open.

Morgana's hand flew up to his cheek, and his finger came away with blood. His scars were tender, but he didn't realize they'd made him bleed.

"Bastards," he grumbled. Kit looked like he was ready to get up and fight, but Morgana waved him off. "Don't. It's fine. You should probably go get cleaned up and eat, the key is right there."

The prince looked less than eager to leave, but Morgana wasn't exactly pleased by the idea of spending a whole day with Kit and his morning breath. Luckily, he did as he was told and picked up the key, unlocking the cell and disappearing up the stairs.

He didn't like that he had to force himself to enjoy time alone anymore. It was lonely down there in the dungeons, there was no amount of serenity in knowing that he was just there to be the Queen's little magic experiment. At this point, Morgana would've enjoyed Kit's company more than this.

That didn't mean he wanted Kit's company.

"That was hardly an hour," Morgana said when he saw the prince again.

"I didn't bother to shave," he replied. He was visibly clean, but his hair wasn't brushed, and his golden stubble was longer than it'd been when Morgana last saw him.

God, he wished it wasn't this charming.

"Were you hurrying?" he asked, trying to sound bored. Kit was getting too smart, though, and he caught on.

He wanted to slap the grin off of his stupid, beautiful face. "What, did you want me to hurry?"

"No, I'm really quite indifferent, actually," Morgana mumbled. "Why are you down here now? Surely it isn't to sleep on the cold floor again."

Kit sobered up, pulling a rag from behind his back. He passed it through the bars, setting it in Morgana's hand. "For your cheek," he said, like it wasn't obvious.

"Thanks." It was unexpected, but it was warm and felt nice against his sore scars, soaking up the blood seeping from the cracks.

It was quiet then, and it got awkward after a minute, but Morgana didn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry."

Kit's voice cut through the silence, pulling Morgana's attention back to him.

"For what?" He shook his head. "I mean, you've got a lot to be sorry for, but what is it this time?"

"I'm trying to say sorry, can you not be an asshole for once in your life?" he groaned, throwing up his hands.

"It's in my nature to be an ass, Kit, just like it's in yours."

The prince rolled his eyes. "I still hate you, if that's what you're so worried about. I'm just. I'm sorry for making things weird."

"When did you make things weird?"

"Well, I mean--in the lake, I might've..." He was looking down at his hands like a nervous child and Morgana had never been so confused. "And I shouldn't have asked you about what happened and why you did it, and whatever... whatever weird feelings I have. I made things... weird."

Morgana stared at him. "You know, nothing was weird until just now. I was perfectly content hating your guts and now you're getting all soft, this conversation is very counterproductive."

"Sorry."

"Also I kissed you first."

That got his attention, and it was only when Kit was looking at him like that that Morgana realized what he said. He had no idea why he said that, but now the prince was marching towards the cell, shoving the key into the lock and yanking open the door. Just as he did the night before, he locked it and tossed the key as far as he could, because he was a moron.

"Kit, what are you--"

The prince grabbed him by the chains around his wrists and pulled him to his feet, and Morgana had no idea what he was doing until his back was slammed against the wall and Kit's hot mouth was crushed against his own.

Every bit of sense in Morgana's brain was telling him to fight it, to push Kit away and scream at him until he went away and never came back. He wasn't supposed to slip his arms over his shoulders and yank him closer, he wasn't supposed to turn his head so he could breathe him in like he did at the lake.

And he most certainly wasn't supposed to moan when Kit's tongue shoved its way between his lips, or when his strong hands forced his hips closer until they were flush against each other, hot and eager and doing everything they weren't supposed to be doing.

Kit's lips were trailing down his jaw when he finally started fighting back, gripping his shirt and shoving him back against the cell, gripping his sturdy jaw and tilting up his chin with his long thumb to attack his stubbled throat.

Not like that, you idiot.

He let out a growl, trying to tell his stupid, useless brain to shut up, but it just pulled a whimper out of Kit. Or maybe it was Morgana's sharp teeth implanted in a soft spot under his ear, perhaps the hand burying itself into his soft, golden hair and yanking at it to keep him still while he left a bruise with his mouth.

"What is this?" Kit breathed, hands roaming his body like they didn't know how to hold still.

Morgana didn't feel like thinking about whatever this was, and he definitely didn't feel like talking about it. "Shut up," he murmured, moving on to leave something beneath Kit's collar. That seemed to be enough for him, and he didn't say another word.

Before he got the chance to move on, Kit took Morgana's lips back, and for a moment he seemed to get the idea that he'd take charge again. Morgana clutched his neck, sinking his teeth into Kit's lower lip, just to remind him not to get cocky.

They could've gone on like that forever, breathing each other in until their lips swelled and their tongues got sore, because there was nothing like the need for air with them, but the door swung open and Morgana realized what he was doing, shoving Kit down to the floor of his cell like nothing was happening.

"Christ, Morgana--"

"I said shut up."

It was Selene, standing in the center of the dungeon with eyes as wide as saucers. "Right. I'm going to ignore whatever the hell you two were up to because I actually came to tell you two about something important."

"I was threatening him," Morgana grumbled.

"Sure you were," she said. "Anyways, we have a lead on the Grail."

* * *

Something smelled of wind. No, not just of wind. Of summer wind. Of the tall oak trees and the needles of pine whose scent swept in from the woods to the north. Of the fresh grown herbs and the vegetables roasting over the fire, and the earthy stench of the lake as the breeze ran across it, creating small waves that splashed up onto the damp, sandy banks.

The smell became a sound. What first could've been the rustling of leaves and the singing of birds turned into two voices, quiet and hopeful. "It's working," one said. "Be patient," spat the other. The rest of the words were unintelligible, a blur of whispers and arguments in the tones of angels.

After the sound came the feeling. There was a dull ache, a soft pillow, and cold chains holding down two stiff, frail wrists, numb after days without use. Warm sheets weighed down on a weightless body, tall and bony but far from what it once was. The senses slowly came back, until there was feeling in the toes and tips of the fingers and the crown of the head.

Confusion followed. There were no memories, only a sharp pain that throbbed and stabbed and hissed. Everything was dark, but the world was returning. There was so much missing, but it wouldn't come. There was no thoughts of a life, no names or faces, only a longing for something unknown. Someone unknown.

One other thing was missing, one sense that would bring the world together, back to the glory it was before. Perhaps the biggest one, the one full of color and texture and wonder and sensation. Though, it was hard to figure out how to get it back.

Sight. The last thing missing was sight.

Chalice Daines opened their eyes.