Um, this is a side-drabble to my story, The Golden Effect. If you haven't read it, then you wouldn't really understand why Morgana is referring to Merlin as 'Merlynn', and 'she' instead of 'he'.
Yeah ...
It's just a piece about Morgana, because she's my favourite character out of the series. Well, other than Gwaine. But I believe she's a really intricately spindled character, and I just adore her.
:)
Pendragon.
The knowledge that that cursed man's blood ran through her veins made her bristle with rage.
Morgana Pendragon.
The rightful Queen of Camelot. Though, she was never given that pleasure. She had to force her way in, with her sister, Morgause.
Morgause. Her last gift to Morgana was her like; the Witch missed her, her heart throbbed with a low ache everytime she thought of her. Morgause could be considered a weakness, a way to get into Morgana's heart.
It worked both ways.
Why could they continue to deny what was destiny?
They, being righteous Arthur and his feeble servant, Merlynn. Morgana smirked bitterly for a moment. Merlynn was anything but feeble; she never gave up, and always seemed to be there, fighting against matters bigger than she could ever comprehend.
She was a simple human, and she just would not die!
Her jaw clenched.
Merlynn. There was once a time Morgana entrusted her with more matters than she had even discussed with Gwen; there was something about Merlynn, something that lured her in. Those blue eyes, so truthful and kind, gazed into her years back, and she trusted her.
And she didn't trust many people. Morgana trusted her with the knowledge of her magic, her pain, her fears.
And what was she returned with?
Poison. Hemlock to be exact.
She supposed a part of her realised why she had even done it in the first place. For Camelot, for Arthur, for her father. Morgana never understood Merlynn's dedication to Camelot. Merlynn had agreed with Morgana many a time, and had supported the idea of magic. She had even helped Mordred.
But, she continued to save their lives, barge against her at every turn. Morgana grit her teeth as she gazed around the hut she was forced to reside in, to hide herself from society.
She deserved her bed, ruling over her kingdom, the way she wanted it. Not, this.
Soon, she would be back however. Not without a smidgen of help, though.
Agravaine.
Her faithful uncle. He wasn't even her blood uncle. So beneath her in every way; snivelly, obeying, like a small dog, or a rodent. Morgana didn't care for his welbeing, only that he gave her the information and security of exiting and entering Camelot without fault.
She knew of his strange obsession for her, or whatever affection he held, and fueled it to get what she desired.
Her throne.
Morgana pondered for a moment. She used to be so happy, so carefree, all frills and pretty dresses, so naive. Then, she discovered the reality of the world.
Her magic.
Such pain she went through the first time she used it; her hands shook, she screamed, cried, the visions had hurt the most. And such fear she used to feel.
What would Uther think?
Would he immediately send her to death?
Morgana had been so scared, terrified of what would happen if anyone would find out what magic she bordered. The servant had understood. She had drawn her friend into her arms and listened to her cry, had taken her to a place (disobeying Uther) where she could learn about her power and not feel like a monster.
Freak, her father used to call them. Creatures like her. Monsters. Disfigured beasts of society that deserved to be slaughtered like the animals they were.
She showed him. The monster she truly was.
Morgana saw the heartbreak in his eyes, and smirked when she knew that he was going through the pain she went through, every single moment she spent by his side.
He was hate.
He was death.
He was blind, stupid and deaf.
She loathed him.
Morgana had made him, over the progress of her dark descent, be reminded with the deeds he had committed, made him succumb to the fear.
And she had to pretend. That she cared, that she was his beloved master.
Morgana clenched her fists and stood, another thought coming to mind. She rid every fleeting comment about Uther as she took a step toward the window.
"Emrys," she hissed into the silence.
She was coming for Morgana.
Her destiny and her doom.
Morgana needed to find out who exactly this Emrys was, and drive a dagger into her heart before she even considered placing doom on her head.
Still, as she gazed out into the forest, she felt a dangerous foreboding enter her body.
Emrys was an unknown entity, but she now had a face to the name. An old woman, who bore a cane made of white bone; such grace the woman held, much more than she had ever seen. She was so calculating, so regal, and her blue eyes were familiar.
She didn't know how, but she would discover.
Morgana would find out who this Emrys was, and eradicate her... Entirely. Then, she wouldn't be afraid anymore. Wouldn't worry every time she caught sight of an old woman, nor would she simply wither away into nothing in this hut.
She would fight.
Strategise. Morgana would gain supreme over her dear brother, and send him to his knees. For being just what she had hoped he wouldn't be: their father. A King, so righteous. She knew he had killed a man, all because of Agravaine, and smirked.
He was more naive than she thought.
A downward spiral.
Morgana would wait until he fell, completely, to become the King that Uther had been. Feared, hated.
She would be ready.
I hope you enjoyed the drabble :)