"Shh, it's alright," the villain said. "You're doing beautifully and I'm so proud of you. But that's enough now. It was cruel of them to make you fight me - you could never have won. It's not your fault."
Lying in the dirt, every muscle aching, a lone tear made its way from her eye. Breathing was painful, a broken rib she was pretty sure, but still she pushed herself up one more time. Was it wrong that the villain seemed kinder than the good guys? He seemed to make more sense, at the very least. But she'd been sent there for a reason and she'd try to stop him even if it meant enduring more.
Her bloodstained arm raised itself again, trembling from the weight of the sword. Too many attempts and too little sleep meant she had long since lost the aid of magic in this battle, it took too much energy. Instead, she swung at her opponent - far from the careful practices of training, this was wild and utterly hopeless, a last attempt before she lost the motivation.
It was over before it began. Like the last six swings, it was easily blocked, despite the fact that the villain had little ability with a sword. Like the last six swings, she lost her balance and when the villain raised hishis hand and sent a wind crashing her into the wall, she was powerless to resist.
This time it really was the last. Upon impact, she felt a broken rib shift, and knew it had to be the end. It was only a matter of time. She wasn't an idiot - this meant internal bleeding, which led to coughing up blood and death. At least she died with dignity, fighting for her people. At least there was nobody left to mourn her.
The blue eyes of the villain looked at her with sadness, and she realised she didn't even know his name. She knew what he was - a sorcerer like her, only brainwashed by the enemy and far too powerful to stop. She'd been their last hope, as a natural warlock like him, with more magic than most. It just wasn't enough to stop the villain.
Villain. That's who he was. A traitor to his kind, siding with those who'd see them dead. That's all she could let him be, even if he did say things that made her stomach curl with uncertainty and seemed genuinely reluctant to hurt her. He may not want to kill her himself, but his actions would lead to the eradication of everything she knew no matter what.
"It's alright," he repeated, his voice just as soothing as ever. "You did brilliantly. Just relax now, you're done, there's nothing more you can do. What's your name?"
"Morgana," she choked out through the thickness in her throat, the colour of which she suspected would be red. There was no point in lying, not anymore.
A spark of recognition seemed to flash in his eyes, and his face grew even more burdened with sadness. "Morgana," the villain breathed. "They're sending children to die for them now. I can't say I'm surprised, but you deserve better."
A harsh laugh bubbled up before she could stop it, and he bent over to lift her head while she retched. "I'm not a child. I've handled worse things than most. And I knew what I was getting into, coming after you. Better? Should I have turned traitor like you, joined the ranks of Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table to torture and murder anyone special? I'd rather die."
"Yes," the villain murmured as he brushed her sticky hair back from her face. "I suppose you would. But you are still a child, despite your courage and your skill, and it was wrong of them to send you so inexperienced."
"You're a murderer."
"Is that what they say now? I was you once - bred to be their savior, to restore them to power. Now look at me. They're not the good guys, Morgana. Arthur isn't his father, and they aren't the freedom fighters."
Of course he'd say that. He was brainwashed, blind to the realities of his side. Still, she felt the words wash over her and felt a modicum of hope that, were they true, maybe even when she was dead the world would be better. As quickly as the relief came, however, it was replaced by guilt and hatred. She was as bad as him, considering the idea that her side was wrong. They were tough, yes, but they had to be to survive. They did what they did for her, for the greater good.
Morgause had warned her he'd be manipulative. Her sister. She couldn't be wrong, she wouldn't lie to her. Family came first - that's why they were fighting this damn war, to protect the families being persecuted by the self-righteous bastards who thought magic was a crime.
"Kill me," she rasped, sick at the thought that she'd let his kind facade get to her for even a second. "Please. Let me have a quick death, let me die in honour. Please. I can't... I can't take much more pain."
That was what it all came down to, wasn't it. The war was to prevent pain, yet fighting it caused more. The sorcerers sent to defeat the villain before her died in pain. She lived her life with the pain of loss, with the pain of fear, and now she lay there, vulnerable, every nerve in her body sending messages of pain to the brain.
The villain smiled down at her sadly, apparently hurt by the request. "Kill you? Is that what you think of me? That's what Morgause told you. She's your sister, isn't she? Morgana. Did she tell you about the rest of your family?"
"My parents are dead. Your precious, innocent Arthur killed them. Morgause took me and escaped - they saved us from you. They... they raised me to stop you, and I failed so kill me, please, like you killed my parents, like you killed my sister."
"Did they tell you of your brother? You've been raised on a lie, Morgana. Uther was your father, and Arthur's not fighting to destroy magic, he's fighting for peace. He's fighting for you, and for everyone who they destroyed. They use dark magic, evil magic. We dwell in the light."
He was lying. Morgause loved her, they loved her, Arthur wanted her kind dead, there was no such thing as bad magic. She strained to get up again, kill him for his blatant lies and slander, but her head swam with pain the second it left the ground, and her knees buckled again before she could stand.
The villain caught her and held her against his chest where she coukd hear the beat of his heart. She hoped her blood and her vomit stained his clothes. She hoped he could never forget the moment he killed the last sorceress left. "I hate you," she hissed, but the words got jumbled through the bile in her mouth, and it didn't sound right.
He seemed to understand, though, if his slight flinch was anything to go by. "I know," he whispered, rocking her back and forth gently, like an infant. "It's alright, it's nearly over. You fought well. It's not your fault. I'll make them pay for what they did to you - hush now, you're alright, it's alright."
The platitudes were comforting, even if she knee he couldn't mean anything by them. Traitor or not, at least she could die in the presence of one of her kind, which was more than most could say these days.
"What's your name?" She asked brokenly. He may be a villain to her, but in a few minutes he would be the last warlock in the world - he deserved his own story, to star in as a hero. Villains didn't need names, but good people need something to remind them of who they are so they don't become twisted.
Morgause once told her Morgana meant dweller of the sea. When she died, that's where she wanted to go: back to the waters, to the lake of Avalon as part of the magic of the world, one with the Triple Goddess.
The villain's eyes flashed gold at the same time hers did, their magic combining to create an illusion of the beach as she died, as if he'd read her mind. "I have a few," he told her, laying her down on the sand where the sea lapped at her hair, cleansing it from the grime and bodily fluids. "The druids call me Emrys. To most, though, I am simply Merlin."
Morgana smiled. The villain's name was sea fortress. That, if nothing else, boded well for the future. One day he would fulfil his role and restore magic, defending the waters of Avalon against the evils of humans. One day the villain may become the hero of her story too, not just of his.
"It's alright," the villain said for a final time as she took a hoarse breath. "Don't be afraid."
She wasn't afraid, not to die. When she died the pain would go away. Maybe she'd see Morgause again, or her parents. What she was afraid of was that it would take much longer, or that it wouldn't happen at all. The villain had been known to heal people before, for what purposes she didn't know, but she couldn't let it happen to her.
In one swift motion she grasped the handle of her sword laying beside her and traced a line of red on her neck, eyes closed so she couldn't see the too-late flash of gold in Merlin's eyes that froze her arm in its tracks.
She died as she had lived: with a sword in her hand, raised up in protest of her villain.