First ever Merlin story, written at 1am. So be nice, people. If you are reading my Survivors story, do not worry, it will be updated soon.
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Foreseen
The visions had started when she was very young. They were tame to start with; visions of a butterfly she would see the next day, or of a boy falling at the market. Tame enough that the servants would laugh when the five-year-old little girl would point out the boy who would fall only minutes later. A peculiar child, they would say amongst themselves in the servant's quarters, but such small children could be excused their peculiarities.
It was at eight years old that her father made a visit to the Court and took her with him. Although her father, Gorlois, told her to respect the King and his Prince son, Arthur, Morgana knew that the little boy she was faced with was going to torment her for the entire visit when he stuck his tongue out at her from behind his father's back. The next day, Morgana came back from breakfast to find her doll removed from her room. Immediately, she walked down to the King's orchards, and climbed the tree on the far side, and retrieved her doll from the utmost branch. Arthur, who had followed Morgana when he realised she was not screaming for her doll to be found, walked up to her.
"How did you know where it was?" he asked her, puzzled.
"Just knew," she told him cheekily.
"There's no way you could have known," said Arthur. "I made sure you couldn't see."
"Well, I did," snapped Morgana, annoyed.
"Only a witch would know something they couldn't have seen," retorted Arthur, angry that his carefully-planned prank had failed so badly. "I'm telling my father you're a witch and then you'll go away and I won't have to play with you anymore."
"I'm not a witch," said Morgana, by now thoroughly offended by the boy's impudence. "I'm telling my father you were mean and kidnapped my doll."
Arthur was immediately worried. His father would be very angry at him if he knew he had treated Morgana like that; he would probably get the belt. "Don't, Morgana. I didn't mean anything by it. I know you're not a witch. I'll let you play with my silver soldier set if you don't tell."
Considering, Morgana smiled. She had liked Arthur's silver soldier set.
It was at ten years old that Morgana had her worst and most intense vision yet. She and her father had had a long dinner together; at first light he was due to ride off with the King's company to fight for him. That night she slept restlessly. Tormented with visions of her father's death, she woke screaming. Her nurse's attempts to placate her did nothing, and so she left, muttering to herself that she never did meet such a child. As soon as her nurse was not there to restrain her, Morgana ran to the Grand Hall, where she knew her father would be giving his last instructions to one of the servants.
"Father," she sobbed, running towards him.
Gorlois was surprised. Morgana knew it wasn't proper for a young lady to behave in such a manner, but she was his adored only child, and so he scooped her into his arms and asked her what was wrong. Gasping for breath, she told him what she had dreamt.
"My child," he said to her affectionately. "It was only a dream. I have been in battles before, and this one shall be even safer, because the King is there, and he is the greatest fighter in the land. I shall be back in a fortnight. Go on, child. Go back to bed."
Her father put her down on her feet and smiled at her kindly, before shooing her off to bed. Hoping that her father was right, that it had only been a dream, she returned to her bedroom, but did not sleep. For the next two weeks, she was morose and worried, and continued to plagued by flashes of an insight she did not want. Finally, the day her father was supposed to return, she ran excitedly to sit at the window-seat in the Grand Hall to await his return. All morning, all afternoon, she sat there, refusing the tempting offers of various servants to lure her away from the window. As the sun started to get lower and lower, she became anxious. When the sun finally dipped below the trees at the end of the valley, leaving the sky a deep red haze, she finally saw a number of horses in the distance, making their way towards the castle. Jumping up, she ran out to the courtyard to meet them, the scarlet ribbon in her hair flowing behind her as she ran. As the horses clattered through the gate, she counted them expectantly, waiting for her father's black stallion to enter the threshold. The last horse in the courtyard, she stood in the entry-way, looking out at the great, empty expanse of fields and the blood-red sky above them. She heard heavy footsteps behind her, treading slowly, and a gloved hand was placed on her shoulder as she continued to stare.
Uther's voice was fraught with an emotion he was trying to keep stifled in front of his men. "Morgana? I am so very sorry. Your father did not return... he fell in battle." He watched as the child sunk to the ground, helplessly repeating words of condolence that had been said to many over the years.
Nine Years Later
She had known that day, when she found out her father was dead, that her dreams, her nightmares, were not normal ones. As the years went by, she felt an increasing sense of horror at her own predicament. Gaius's potions and concoctions had no effect, and she had more or less resigned herself to the tearful awakenings and stolen sleep. Gwen helped, and she was far more comforting than her nurse had been as a child, but even she could not take away the nightmares, just comfort her when they were over.
These past months they were far worse, ever since Merlin had arrived. She didn't know what it was about the raven-haired, clumsy young servant of Arthur's that intrigued her so, but as different as she was from other people, she knew that he was different too. Like the druid boy, Merlin held a certain quality in his eyes, and when he looked at her it felt as if he knew her secret. Her visions held pictures of his face so many times in relation to the tragic events that seemed to keep happening around Camelot that she wondered how he could not be involved. Her common sense told her that he was just a boy, a servant who had come to Camelot from a poor village, but something inside her knew that he was not, and that he had a greater involvement than either Uther or Arthur knew.
Whether Merlin knew about her or not, Morgana was perfectly aware of the danger that she was in. Visions, as the young Arthur had told her years ago in the orchard, were the province of witches. Magic. Magic in Camelot, the home of Uther, who had sworn to kill all those who possessed it, benevolent or not. He could never find out.
He must never find out.