This is a story I wrote when I had writers block for – well everything, so six months later I thought I might as well put it out. I always thought that some of the most significant changes happened somewhere in the middle of series 2, and I've never managed to pin point where everything changed. This is my attempt. Enjoy!
Morgana looked around her, her heart beating and her stomach churning. The room was bleak and dark, the instruments of Aredian's cruel practice hanging around the room. Her imagination wove pictures of men and women bound by those chains, their limbs twisted and broken, bleeding…her breathing began to quicken as he approached, a small smile playing on his lips. He stood before her, the disdain and arrogance in his eyes unable to mask his greedy lust.
"My Lady." She nodded, trying to remain calm. He had no reason to suspect her, was probably just asking about Gaius…"Now then, let us get down to business. Gaius informed me that you suffer from nightmares." Imperceptibly, she nodded, and Aredian looked at her with keen, bright eyes. "And these nightmares, what do they show?" She could scarce speak with fear, her sole concentration on breathing evenly and deeply. Small whimpers escaped her throat. Where was Merlin? He said that he wouldn't – where was he? Tears pricked at her eyes and she hastily blinked them back.
"I barely remember my nightmares, they are mostly trivial." Aredian gave a short, sharp bark of laughter.
"Trivial? Reports say that you often wake others with screaming and crying. Are you sure you can't remember any of the seemingly terrible things you see in your dreams?" Morgana stammered as her mind raced, trying to think of an answer.
"I don't…I mean sometimes I am upset by the things I see but they aren't important, or…" Aredian's grey eyes bored in to hers, and she trembled where she sat.
"And yet I have heard that you went so far as to try and stop Prince Arthur from leaving Camelot on account of a dream you had. You must have remembered what you saw, surely?" At her silence, he smirked, and continued, "That same day, the Prince was bitten by a Questing Beast, a creature of magic. Dark magic." Her lip was trembling as she tried to think of an excuse for her behaviour. "Funny that you knew." Her head snapped up.
"I didn't – know, I was just worried about him,"
"Worried?" He laughed; that gravelly, mirthless chuckle that grated against her ears. "Sorceresses do not worry for anyone but themselves, My Lady." Her gasp was audible, and her eyes widened as she shook her head frantically.
"I am not a sorceress, that is – how dare you make such accusations." She whispered.
"I make them because they are true, witch." All pretence of courteousness gone, he snarled at her, baring his teeth like an animal. "You are a witch and it was you who brought the Prince back to life, when he lay on the brink of death. You plot Uther's downfall as you plan to raise Arthur as King with you as his Queen – I have no doubt you have already employed your love potions upon him." Frantically she shook her head.
"No, that's not true. I am not a witch."
"You are a witch, you are a liar and you are a filthy slut who does not deserve the hospitality Uther extends." Aredian bit out, savagely, and Morgana gave a silent scream as she prayed to the Goddess for deliverance.
"No, I love Arthur with the natural love of a sister, nothing more. I have no desire to be Queen, please…" Aredian smirked coldly.
"You are a witch. You know nothing of natural love, for your heart is as black as night. I accuse you, Morgana Gorlois, of practising wicked arts causing the Prince to fall in love with you, and sending demons to plague Uther in the form of a troll." Morgana's mouth was dry as she whimpered, trying not to let her fear show. Aredian placed a hand on her breast, his hot breath repugnant. "Your heart betrays you, my lady. It is beating fast. I smell fear on you." He stepped back, his eyes suddenly glazed over. "Have you ever seen someone burnt alive, My Lady?" In her terror she noted his reverse to her formal title.
"No," she whispered. He smiled warmly, as if reminiscing.
"The sorcerer is tied to a stake, surrounded by logs. There is little to help the flames along; they burn slowly, so that the sorcerer might feel the heat of the flame against the soles of their feet. Then the flames slowly consume them, blackening their skin and releasing the smell of roasting meat, of their organs cooking. Their screams pierce the air and can be heard for miles around, they sound like animals in their anguish. Sometimes the sorcerer is killed quickly, suffocated by the smoke. However, a truly skilled executioner will allow the flames to travel up slowly, so that they start at their feet, and work their way up so that the sorcerer might see his body disintegrating in to ash, feel the torment of the flames," Morgana couldn't help it. She vomited violently on to the floor, moaning and retching as she gasped for air. Still she did not cry, determined that he should not take that from her. She needed Merlin, she desperately wanted his arms around her once more – and yet as she thought it, she realised that she couldn't confide in Merlin. What if Aredian found her guilty, and Merlin was accused of conspiring with her? She couldn't put him in that kind of danger, couldn't allow such a loyal friend to suffer for her. Especially as Aredian already had Merlin picked out as a target. Doing her best to pick up the scraps of her dignity off of the floor, she looked at him with defiance in her eyes. Aredian merely smiled, surveying her dishevelled state with satisfaction.
"Confess, witch. Your death is of course, cemented, but it helps matters if you confess early on." She shuddered and dry heaved, shaking uncontrollably. Aredian grabbed her wrist, his thumbs bruising her right down to the bone. "Because you see, My Lady, it hurts to be burnt." His mouth curved up in a smile as he struck a match, and her eyes widened in fear. "It hurts to be burnt." He held the match close to her wrist, so that she could feel its heat, feel the blaze of the flame against the delicate skin of her wrist. Then without warning, he drew the flame to her skin, his eyes remaining calm as she screamed in agony, crying out with pain. Her wrist was screaming with her, and she barely recognised the animal sounds she was making as she pulled at her hair in an effort to distract herself from the pain. Aredian drew the flame away, smiling in satisfaction.
"Yes, my Lady, I think that will be all for today. You may return to your chambers. I prefer to leave a gap between the burnings, get the smell of charred human flesh out of the square. I will mark you in for next week." She trembled, but was determined to look him in the eye.
"When Uther sees the burn on my wrist, he will banish you, Aredian. He will not stand for this!" Aredian barked with laughter, eyeing her up and down.
"Oh but My Lady, did you not understand? Uther sanctioned this. He is determined to purge magic from his Kingdom, and he knows all to well the pretty guise sorcery can take." He savoured the last words, gauging Morgana's reaction. Morgana shook her head, desperately wanting it to be untrue.
"No, he loves me. He would never…" Aredian cut her off.
"Loves you? Who could love a witch? You can leave now, my lady. I must prepare for the execution tomorrow." With that retort, he motioned for her to leave, and she fled.
Morgana ran back to her chambers and locked herself in and allowed herself to cry. Tears choked her as she gasped for breath, stuffing her fists in to her mouth to try and stifle her sobs. She curled up with her back to the door and rocked herself, for the first time in years wanting her mother, someone to hold her and comfort her as she cried. She closed her eyes and willed herself to remember.
Her mother, a High Priestess of the old Religion, had escaped, the night that the small family had fled from the court and back to their home in Cornwall. Morgana had been a tiny baby herself at the time, barely able to lift her head. But Morgana remembered the tears that had fallen on to her head as her mother had rocked her, weeping over the deaths of her most beloved companion and of her kind. She had left, in the end. Unable to watch the death of her kind as she lived, she had fled to the Isle of the Blessed. Morgana hadn't had her first birthday. And yet still she remembered her mother's parting words, as if they had been embroidered on her soul. Her mother had played with her all morning, sung to her. Then in the last moment they shared, she kissed the top of her head and whispered,
"My little Anna. I won't be long, I promise. That tyrant won't keep us apart forever. But we might be some time; I must join my sisters on the isle. Always remember this my darling, darling girl. Mummy loves you, mummy loves you more than the sky and the moon and the earth and we will never really be separated, not really." At this point Morgana had begun to cry, and her mother had joined her. But then a different pair of arms had picked her up. Familiar and comforting, but those of a nameless face. She racked her brains, trying to think who it could be. At first she thought that it had been a nursemaid or nanny, but these were small arms that held her, and the voice that spoke was that of a little girl, no older than Mordred. She brought her to the window of the nursery, whispering in her ear.
"Do you see it, Morgana? The white castle – do you see it? That's Camelot, where the young King is spilling the blood of our people. But one day, when you are a bit bigger, we will rise up against him. And we will have our revenge. But I swear now that mother and I, we will always watch over you." Morgana could not see the girl as she was set down, but caught a glimpse of blonde plaits swinging as the girl took her mother's hand and began to chant…
A blonde woman stood over her, canting the words of an ancient spell. Suddenly she morphed in to the little girl who had picked Morgana up all those years ago. Her eyes flashed amber, but as they did her face withered and decayed, Morgana raised a sword and…
She was running, running from something shapeless and black, but terrifying. She ran and as she ran she stumbled on the hem of her skirt, she was falling, a sword was rising….
She was choking. Someone was holding her, tears were falling on to her head – was it her mother or Merlin? Her lungs were set alight and she was burning, her skin was blackening and a pair of cold green eyes, icy in their refusal to love, stared at her, burned in to her soul and why would he do such a thing? He thinks I'm a monster…she couldn't breathe she couldn't breathe…
Morgana started awake, screaming as she struggled to breathe. Her screams grew quieter as her throat ran hoarse, as she struggled to remember what was real and what was a dream. Still she hyperventilated whispering to herself,
"Just a dream, only a dream, it's not true, it doesn't have to be true…" Her neck and back was stiff; the price of sleeping curled up against her bedroom door. She was still in her gown from yesterday, and stood, groaning. Morgana squinted as the dawn light flooded her bedroom, and she realised its dreadful implication. This morning Gaius was to die. Morgana went to her bedroom window, watching as Gaius was dragged out. She couldn't do this. Couldn't watch him die. Suddenly, Morgana felt the hairs prick on the back of her neck as she turned around and met Aredian's cold gaze.
"Just think. In a week's time, this will be your execution the crowd will be watching." Morgana backed away from him, glancing at her burnt wrist. In the light of day it was an angry purple, made in the sign of the cross. The sign of the inquisition.
"Uther loves me. He couldn't have me killed." Aredian crossed the room, grabbing at her swollen wrist and ignoring her gasp of pain.
"Do you see this, my lady? The sign of the inquisition. We have burnt thousands upon thousands of sorcerers, be they man, woman or child. Uther himself has ordered the drowning of babies he thought might be tainted with magic. What makes you think that he will show mercy to you? After all, he remembers your mother's betrayal all too well." Morgana started at the mention of her.
"What do you know of my mother?" Aredian smirked, his eyes dead.
"All this is her doing. The Great Purge, the witch hunts, it was her who started this. Know that witch, as you go to your death. Uther could never bring himself to kill her. Time and time again I demanded we lead a hunt against her. But he dismissed it, said that she had been banished and that you were untainted by her evil. But I knew better." He turned and made to leave, adding, as if it were an afterthought. "You look the same. Though her eyes were blue, not green." With that he left, and Morgana sank to her knees on the floor. She must dress, must brush her hair and be ready to present herself to Uther. Her loving guardian. She gave a short, bitter laugh, as the seeds of hatred were sown in her soul.
His body was loaded on to a cart, and dragged through the market place to be buried outside of Camelot. They covered his body with a sheet in the end, so broken was it by his fall. Morgana could still feel the blade of his knife on her throat, his hot breath on the back of her neck. Her heart was still thumping as she ran out beyond the city walls and in to the grassy meadows of Camelot, the castle far behind her. Uther's hand on her shoulder, his concerned,
"Are you all right, Morgana? He didn't cut you when he…did he?" She had shaken her head, murmured that she was fine. But all she could think of was hiding the burn on her arm, the cross that marked her as a suspect of the inquisition. And she had recoiled at his touch, looking at his gloved hand and thinking of the blood it had spilled. Of how that hand had come up and choked her, so hard she thought she might suffocate under his grip. And how that hand would gladly come down for the executioner's signal, to light the fire and –
"No." She whispered to herself. Aredian's voice taunted her, his words stabbing in to her gut like a sword. She sank to her knees, putting her hands over her ears.
"He's dead, he's dead, he's dead," she whispered to herself, over and over again to try and make herself believe it. "He's dead, he's dead, he's dead…" Suddenly she heard footsteps behind her, felt strong arms hold her tight and rock her. Merlin's arms. She leant back in to them, crying softly. He held her tightly, his lips kissing her hair, kissing the tears from her face, from her eyelashes. He began to whisper words of comfort in to her hair.
"It's all right Morgana, he's dead; he can't hurt you any more." She sobbed harder, burying her face in the folds of his jacket and holding him close. No one held her like Merlin did, even her hugs with Gwen were fleeting and seemed more distant. The two seemed to be in different worlds, with Gwen's burning desire for Arthur and Morgana's fear for her life, and sanity.
They kissed, hard and desperately, Morgana's leg coming up high on his waist and her hands running through his hair. He dipped her back over his arm and they fell back together on to the grass, their passion simmering in to soft gentle kisses and whispered 'I love you's. She murmured in to his shirt,
"He said he was going to burn me, Merlin. He said he was going to watch as my skin blackened, and enjoy my screams. He accused me of enchanting Arthur to fall in love with me – my own foster brother." Merlin's grip tightened around her.
"I never should have left you alone with him, I should have…" She shook her head, her green eyes darkening.
"I hate him." Merlin looked to Morgana.
"But of course, he was a monster. You saw what he did to Gaius. You heard his filthy words against o-your kind." Morgana shook her head.
"Not him; Uther. Everything you described, Uther has been guilty of hundreds of thousands of times over. This was his doing. He would have seen us both burnt at the stake, Merlin!"
Merlin looked tired. He held her close and let her nestle in to his chest, stroking her hair absent mindedly. She played with the fastenings of his shirt. When he spoke every word was measured and careful.
"Vengeance against Uther will get us nowhere. We must simply wait for Arthur to become King. Only then can matters change." Morgana gave a short, sharp laugh.
"Will they change Merlin? Because Arthur doesn't seem to be feeling very tolerant towards magic – it took all of Gwen's emotional manipulation to get him to do the right thing. What makes you think he is different? And whilst I do not doubt he will be a great King – surely he should know that magic is not necessarily evil." She looked in to Merlin's eyes, seeking an answer there. His lips came down and brushed against her own, and she fisted his shirt in her hands. He broke away to speak.
"We must wait, Morgana. It may take years, but one day I believe Arthur may come to realise for himself the truth of magic. If you tell him now of your magic, it will only harden his heart against you." Morgana spoke in bitter tones, turning her head away.
"So that is it? I wait, and all this time watch my people be slaughtered, live every day in fear of my life? You don't have magic Merlin. How could you possibly hope to understand?" He frowned, tried to get her to see, to understand that he could not act, must wait for destiny to do her part. The words were on his lips, brimming out of him and begging to be said. I have magic. But he couldn't, mustn't. To silence the words, he kissed Morgana's fingertips, and her tense face broke as she smiled up at him. He kissed the lines of her palm, working his way down to her pulse where he nipped and sucked when suddenly she gasped with pain. There on her wrist was the ugly dark purple burn, the shape of a crucifix. The skin around it was pusy and swollen, and it was evidently becoming infected. Rage clouded his vision, the red mist coming over his eyes. Aredian's death was not enough, he wanted to tear him limb from limb, rip his eyes from their sockets, cut off his fingers one by one…terrifying, violent thoughts that Merlin had never harboured before. Seeing this change in him, Morgana pulled him back down, concerned.
"Hey Merlin, shh, it's OK, it doesn't hur-ah," she whimpered as Merlin pressed down on it gently.
"I'm going to take you down to Gaius's, and we can clean it." He stated, in a calm voice that didn't convince her for one second. She looked at him deviously, a small smile gracing her lips.
"Why of course – although it might be significantly harder to make me leave, Merlin."
Through her crystal ball, Morgause watched Morgana screaming as Aredian pushed the flame down on to her pale skin. She felt sick – horrified. Watching her sister's torture, watching her collapse and disintegrate before her eyes. She had left Morgana in Camelot because she thought she would be safe, thought that she would be better off with a loving family than on the run with her, hunted by her former family. But the Pendragons had let – this – happen to her, and Morgana obviously wasn't safe in Camelot any more. She had promised both her mother and Morgana that last day together that she would help look after Morgana. It seemed that now that responsibility fell solely on her shoulders.