A/N: I know, it's not like what I usually do. I'm suffering from writer's block induced by a very depressing piece of writing, and like something you eat that comes back to haunt, I just can't get over it. So I wrote these Morgana ficlets to help! They span from angst to fluff, friendship to hatred, happy to sad, so I hope you enjoy. Spoilers through season 4. Also, I can't use spellcheck right now.

"Aren't you going to tell me that you thought we were friends?" She tilted her head, but her smile was a little shakier than usually.

Merlin tested the weight of the sword in his hands. "No," he said. "I've moved past that a little bit faster than Gwen and Arthur. After all, I know what happened to you."

"Oh, Gwen, you have to promise me you'll stay around long enough to help me with my wedding one day," Morgana said as her maid brushed her hair. "I'd be lost without you!"

Gwen laughed. "Of course, milady."

"And I'll come to yours!"

Gwen snorted. "As though I'll get married. Who would want to marry me?"

Morgana remembered, once upon a time, how cute she'd thought Gwen's puppy crush on Arthur was.

Eventually they had to move Helios's body; they couldn't leave it in the throne room.

It was when they leaned over the corpse to move it onto a sheet that Arthur commented, "It shows a lot of loyalty, you know, to stay and fight when your outnumbered when the person you work for is helpless and runs away."

Merlin gave him a strange look and then looked down at the large black man. He shrugged. "She always did inspire loyalty. I guess it's a Pendragon trait." And he smiled at Arthur to knock the king out of his pensive mood.

It wasn't for a while, what with the fighting and the nearly dying, but after a while, it hit her what Arthur had said.

"Not so powerful now, milady."

Milady. Not Morgana. Not sister. Not traitor, sorceress, witch.

Milady. A title of respect. And a title of distance. Not something you say to someone you are related to, or someone you used to be friends with. Something you call the person you only just met, that you understand but you don't know well, that you have nothing to do with and may never see again.

It made her feel strangely lonely.

All he ever wanted was to protect his children, especially his daughter – his fragile, beautiful daughter – from the horrible evils of the world.

And then she'd become one of them.

And he spent a year trying to fathom how.

Whenever people spoke of Morgana, Percival just remained silent. No one noticed, as silence was Percival's natural state.

But he didn't want to tell them that he couldn't dredge up any hatred for the woman. He'd never even met her face to face. He didn't understand her, but he felt just this strange, empty indifference towards the enemy.

Then on patrol, Elyan woke up from his nightmare sweating and whimpering, crying, "Please, I'll tell you, please; they're in Ealdor!"

And even as Percival whispered reassurances and comforts and sent the dark man back to bed, he began to understand.

"You know," Merlin told Gwen as she sat beside him beneath the stars, draping a blanket over his shoulders, "it takes a lot of courage to get out of where you don't want to be. To face yourself or someone else and reveal it. I wish I had that kind of courage."

It was an old man named Taliesin who told her that it was her destiny to turn against her friends and the followers of the Pendragons, to take them down.

And she said that, no. She'd made that decision on her own.

"Are you going to leave me here?"

There was no plea in Morgana's voice as she stared up at Merlin from the forest floor, the open wound on her back dying her red. She wasn't begging. She was just asking, just wondering.

"Yes," he said.

And he walked away.

In another world, another time, Morgana would have heard the news and squealed, thrown her arms around Guinevere and squeezed. She would have said she was so excited. She would have beamed.

Now, Morgana just leaned forward with a hard, mask-like face. "I can't let Arthur have an heir. It is essential we kill her before she gives birth."

The truth was, Morgana could get horribly jealous of the people she loved.

And as much as she tried to convince herself that she didn't love them anymore, the first time she discovered Arthur and Gwen's mutual feelings for each other, she had to fight the innate possessiveness. Her face flushed red.

Gwen was her maid.

Arthur was her friend, or so he thought, and he was her brother. Her brother, so she didn't like him, not anymore, but still… What right did they have to go and discover love without her?

It wasn't an incurable disease, and it wasn't fatal. When Morgana snuck herself out of her hovel and to a small town to see a physician, he simply gave her a small bottle with a potion.

"Here," he said. "It will cure you within a few days. And it will help you sleep."

Imagine his surprise when her eyes lit up with terror and rage, when she threw the bottle upon the ground without a moment of hesitation, and when she looked at it like she was defying some great evil and said, simply, "No."

Eventually she forgave them all for whatever had happened, forgave them for not noticing she needed help when she did. All except Merlin, the only one who ever tried, and failed so spectaculary. Him, she never forgave. She never let herself.

Sometimes, when she was being instructed by Morgause, or telling Agravaine what to do, or plotting with Mordred, she would suddenly smile to herself. She would remember another woman, one who fretted nonstop, who was terrified of every breath and changed her mind like the wind, desperate to understand herself.

That was so long ago. Never again.

I'm so glad I decided to leave.

Gwen through open the door like the boldest of nobles, ignoring all else as the cry drew her to her mistress's bed. "Morgana!" she called as she tossed herself sitting onto the bed, grabbing the shoulders of the panicked woman.

"Breathe, Morgana! Breathe! It's okay! What was the dream about?"

Morgana's hand hovered over her chest and her eyes were wide as she tried to collect herself. "I... I don't remember. I don't remember."

"Good," Gwen said. "Good." And then she put her arms around Morgana and drew the woman close, her soft heart aching for the bold Lady Morgana. It hurt to see someone so proud so scared.

Protectively pulling Morgana's head down into her embrace, Gwen put her face against the woman's hair and whispered, "I wish I could take them away. I wish I could have the nightmares for you. It's okay, Morgana. It's okay."

Morgana never told anyone, and neither did Merlin, since he later remembered so little (and most of what he did remember was secret). But at one point, when his hands were tied above his head and he couldn't get away, she'd put her hands behind his neck and drawn him forward just a little as she leaned into him and kissed his lips.

He spit at her, but she didn't care, because she'd done it and he couldn't undo it.

Gwen's hands scrabbled at the ground as she crawled backwards, looking around desperately for escape or salvation. Seeing none, she looked back at the woman standing over her with fire in her green eyes.

Guinevere's brown ones were wet as she looked up at her greatest enemy.

"But," was all she could say, stuttering like she once had as a young, nervous maid, "but... but... We loved you, Morgana. I loved you."

She stared as hard as she could, trying to see into her old friend's soul, inside of her. Because she just needed to see some remorse.

One day Gwen had told her that the maid had recieved her first kiss near a Maypole when she was eight and Leon was ten.

Morgana had laughed and demanded to know more, wishing to have information with which to torment her favorite knight.

But she'd also asked for more to get the topic changed.

Morgana had never been kissed.

When Arthur saw her standing there across the battlefield, her dress black and torn, he threw down his sword.

She saw him there, staring, his chainmail glistening in the sun, and she dropped her spellbook.

He tilted back his head and stared at his pale sister.

She pushed back her black locks and gazed at her golden brother.

Then, without a word, he left Merlin and began to run. She pushed off from the grass, also running faster than she could remember. They met in the middle and she unceremoniously threw herself into his arms, breath catching in near sobs as she drove herself into his chest. He caught her and curled his arms around her, stroking her hair and letting her bury her face.

"Morgana," he said, his voice thick. "You're back. I can't believe you're really back."

She held onto him like a lifeline. "I'm back."

"Welcome home."

Morgana sat on a mossy log, running her dagger tip through the wood, silently contemplating the man waiting next to her. She ran a finger down the tight curl her dirty hair had turned into.

"You didn't have to come," she said. "You didn't have to come help me fight this battle. You know it won't change anything between us after today."

He leaned back against a tree with his ruffled black hair, and his blue eyes peered at her. "I know," he said earnestly. "I know. I wanted to help... I don't like them either anyway. But after all..." And here he smiled. "We were friends."

A/N: It was terrible, wasn't it? *hides face* I'm trying! I just can't write right now!