I don't own anything related to the Merlin, nor did I create any of the characters within. I write only for fun, and do not make any money from this exercise.
Warnings for angst and anachronistic cookery.
She hadn't paused. She hadn't had a moment of indecisiveness or a single second thought. Instead, her heart beat faster and her breast swelled with the thought that she would, ultimately, be Uther's end.
For the remainder of the afternoon she pottered around her little hut, preparing for Agravaine to bring the most welcome news. She poured herself a glass of the fine wine she and Morgause stored for rare, special occasions, and collected honey for sweetmeats. She would drink to Uther's death as she wouldn't have chance to dance upon his grave. Well, not until she finally took her rightful place upon the throne.
As dusk fell she put the honey in a cauldron, and hung it above her small fire. She slowly coaxed it to a boil. She was stirring it slowly when the pain struck.
It was sharp and sudden. Morgana's hand went to the left side of her rib and pressed, as if staunching a wound, as she gasped and doubled over. She looked down and pulled her hand away, but there was no red stain to her surprise. Without conscious thought she replaced her hand, and stumbled to her little bed. As she fell on it her bed curled around it's self, trying to find some comfort and relief from it's agony.
Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. It was then that she knew. Uther's pain, and Uther's death. She sat still, waiting for the wave of triumph to come, to be swept away on the wings of victory. But there was nothing, only a strange numbness.
Her right eye itched, and a drop of moisture rolled down her cheek. Morgana swept it away and stared at the traitorous tear that wetted her finger.
No! She would not cry for him. Not the father who betrayed her twice over. Not the man who would see her, and those like her, dead. But her disloyal throat tightened anyway, and a second tear followed the path of the first.
Morgana shot up from the bed in action as sudden as an arrow loosed from a bow. She went back to her cauldron and removed it from the flame. Into it she threw cinnamon, ginger and breadcrumbs with a fervour that bordered on desperation. But as she tried to stir it the spoon would barely move and the crumbs sat on top of the thickened mixture. Too thick - ruined.
Morgana stared with fierce determination at the honey mixture that defied her. Again and again she tried to stir it, but the cooler it became the further her concoction hardened. Her eyes became sore and soon droplets of water fell with increasing frequency from her cheeks, hitting the over-boiled honey it a mocking rhythm.
Suddenly it was too much, and the furious energy burst out of her as she threw the cauldron from her and across the small hut. It rolled out of the door sprinkling breadcrumbs and spices as it went, and coming to rest with a dull thunk.
Morgana collapsed in upon herself. Her arms wrapping around herself in a lonely charade of a hug. She sobbed violently as unbidden images arose in her mind. She saw the man who loved her as no other, the man who sent an army to find a her when he believed her lost. She felt the arms of a man who would destroy any who harmed her.
"Why?" she gasped. "Why could you not love all of me?"
But then she heard Uther's distinguished voice almost beg for magic to save her life, even as a skinny boy told her she, alone, would be able to change Uther's mind. And knew that he had.
"Oh, Gods!" she panted as her chest refused to draw breath and her body trembled. "Father!"
Morgana knew there would be no celebration.