Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who's been reading Embers. I'm working on the next chapter, but the season finale got me thinking about the state of Morgana and Merlin's relationship, and this is what came out. (I kept waiting for Arthur to pin Merlin's melancholy on Morgana's absence, or for Merlin to actually remember what he did to her, but I guess I have to settle for Gwen and Gaius missing her.) Anyways, this story's a little out there, and it makes a bit more of the M/M relationship than we've been given in canon, but I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless. :)

The title comes from Missy Higgins's song "Nightminds."

The leaves littering the ground crunch beneath Merlin's boots as he trudges through the forest. The sunshine streaming through the tree cover laughs at him, pokes fun at the gloom weighing heavy in his heart. And when he steps into a clearing, into the bright midday sunshine, the darkness inside him grows deeper. He turns his face upwards to look at the clouds dappling the brilliantly blue sky.

He used to love feeling the sun on his face, the brush of wind against his cheek. But even fresh air feels stale now.

All he can think about is her, whether she's feeling the same breeze, or looking up at the same sky.

A deep frown etched onto his face, Merlin scrambles up onto the low branch of a nearby tree, stretches his legs out, and settles his back against the thick trunk.

Quiet isn't something he's used to, not while living in the castle and serving the prince. So he sits here, listening to the birds chirp softly, letting the silence settle around him and seep into his skin. He closes his eyes, rests his head against the trunk, and feels the world slip away.

In his mind, he does it all over again, but right this time.

He tells her the truth, shows her his power, talks to her. He doesn't let her try to figure herself out and wade through it alone. Instead, he stands by her side, holding her up instead of letting her down.

Letting out a long, slow breath, he relinquishes those fantasies. She's gone now, and there's no way to turn back time, no way to atone for what he's caused.

"I'm sorry," he confesses quietly.

She won't hear him – can't hear him – but he needs to speak. He's aching inside from holding everything too close to his heart, from ignoring the source of the pain. Swallowing thickly, he opens his eyes. He imagines her in the center of the glade, a playful smile on her face as she gazes up at him.

Shaking his head, he continues in a low, ragged voice, "I never meant for any of this to happen. I was only trying to help Arthur fulfill his destiny, to save Camelot. . . . Somehow that doesn't mean as much when the cost was losing you." He bites his lip to keep it from trembling. "I should have told you. I know what it's like to be lost, and scared, and alone, and I should have told you that. You deserved the truth." His shoulders slump as he sighs deeply. "I wish I could tell you everything that's happened. You're the only one who could understand. Maybe you didn't know it, but you made me feel not so alone."

He stops, bunches his fists in rage, because he's talking to air. Because there is no one in whom he can confide. Because she is not here and his heart is breaking.

"Morgana . . ." he breathes, "forgive me. If we should meet again, and I hope we shall, I want you to know how sorry I am. All I ask is your forgiveness."

Merlin takes a deep breath, blinks back the tears rising to his eyes, and hops down from the branch. He's already been gone for too long, and, even though no one notices his constant distraction, someone will have noticed his physical absence. He picks a wildflower at his feet, twirling the stem between his fingers, and thinks of her as he heads through the forest back toward the castle. He still has the rest of the day ahead of him, has the rest of the day – the rest of his life – to go through the motions.

He misses her. But what he finds himself missing most is knowing how to care.

Morgana, awoken by the first dream she's had in months, bolts upright in bed as a shout dies on her lips. She runs a hand through her hair and then grasps her wrist, feeling the cool metal of her bracelet beneath her fingers. Moonlight shines through the window and splashes onto the sheets, and there's a dull ache in her heart, one that's grown every day since she was taken from Camelot, one that she's refused to acknowledge until now.

She shouldn't be having dreams.

She shouldn't be seeing Merlin in her dreams.

And she doesn't really want to think about it all, to remember the look on his face as he'd cradled her to his chest, but maybe it all means something.

She looks up sharply as the door flies open and Morgause strides into the room, a candle in one hand and a dagger in the other.

"Are you all right?" she asks, holding the candle out to get a better view of her half-sister. "I heard a shout."

"It was nothing," Morgana replies. "Just a dream."

Morgause narrows her eyes. "A dream?" Morgana nods. "And you are wearing the bracelet I gave you?"

"Yes." A frown appears on Morgause's lips, prompting Morgana to offer, "I don't understand it either."

Morgause sits down on the edge of the bed, takes her hand, and says, "Tell me what you saw."

"It was nothing really," Morgana explains. "Just Arthur's servant. I was standing in a clearing. He was sitting in a tree and . . ."

"And?"

Morgana hesitates. The dream had seemed so private, so intimate, like Merlin wanted no one but them to know. Finally, when Morgause, apparently intent on hearing the entirety of the dream, leans forward, she says quietly, "Talking to me. That's all. Just . . . talking."

"What did he say?"

Morgana licks her lips and takes her hand away. She's not ready to share him with anyone, even with the woman who saved her. She shakes her head. "I can't remember it clearly."

Morgause rises and walks over to the window. "The servant," she begins, "does he have magic?"

"Merlin? No," Morgana answers quickly, automatically dismissing the possibility as preposterous. But then what he said in the dream . . . All of their conversations when he'd seemed to be dancing around something come flooding back to her. All those times Arthur was so close to death, only for the threat to be thwarted at the very last minute, Merlin always by his side. She swallows, shaking her head at the thought. Because if it were true, it would mean that he had lied to her.

She backtracks again, connecting the pieces. The forgiveness he had asked for – it was for more than just the poison.

It was because he had lied.

Morgause turns to look at her. "You think he might," she states.

"I-I do not know," Morgana stammers, pulling her knees to her chest. "It is possible."

Morgause sighs and turns away again. "If he is magic, then he is communicating with you."

"Communicating?"

"Yes. It was no ordinary dream you had tonight." Morgana watches her half-sister, waits for the explanation to come, but Morgause is quiet for a moment, staring out of the window contemplatively. Finally, she says, "You and he are linked for some reason, though . . ." Trailing off, the older woman turns and regards her sharply. "Do you remember anything of what he said? Did he request anything of you?"

Morgana, fiddling with the cuff of her nightgown, answers quietly, "He only asked that I forgive him."

"Then it seems he does not realize the link exists. Or else he would have asked more of you."

Morgana bristles at the suggestion that Merlin of all people would have an ulterior motive for caring about her, but she pushes that misgiving away and queries, "You mean he is talking to me without realizing the message will reach me?"

"Perhaps. It is hard to say."

Morgana takes a deep, calming breath. Lost in racing thoughts, she barely notices as Morgause bids her goodnight, presses a kiss to her forehead, and sweeps out of the room. She falls back against the pillows and stares up at the ceiling.

If Merlin can communicate with her through dreams, then might it not also be possible for her to communicate with him?

The idea fills her with a tentative hope, something she'd thought she'd abandoned back in Camelot. She closes her eyes, pulls the covers up, and settles in, hoping sleep will claim her quickly.

He dreams of Morgana, like he does every night, but it is different this time. This is no nightmare. This is . . . real, somehow. She stands in an open field, a valley where the grass is as high as her waist. He's there, too, standing clumsily before her as she reaches for his hand, and he knows somehow that this isn't Camelot.

"Morgana," he whispers, his voice dying away on the breeze.

She doesn't respond, just pulls him along up the hill. The high grass is difficult to wade through, but it gets shorter as they climb, and by the time they reach the top of the hill, the ground is mere rocks beneath his boots. They cross the small plateau, and she lets go of his hand when they reach the edge. He feels a chill go through him at the loss of contact. She turns her gaze out upon the view, but, even though he knows he's supposed to look as well, he can't tear his eyes away from her.

Her dark, wavy hair flutters in the gentle wind, caressing her pale cheeks. Her dark green dress sets off her eyes – a blazing, melancholy emerald – and there's a sorrow etched onto her furrowed brow that was never there before.

"Morgana," he entreats again, but still she doesn't look at him.

Disheartened, he sighs and follows her gaze. His breath catches in his throat as he turns his eyes upon a vast, rolling sea. The waves crash against the shore below in a rhythm eerily reminiscent of the tumult in his chest. All is can see for miles and miles is water, endless ocean, but it makes no sense to him.

Why are they here? Why won't she talk to him?

"I don't understand," he tells her as he shakes his head in dismay. He purses his lips, feeling a sudden desire to take her by the shoulders and shake an answer out of her. She's slipping through his fingers, and trying to stop it is as futile as trying to capture the waves colliding into the rocks below. His voice cracks as he shouts, "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me!"

She turns to regard him silently, the sadness growing in her eyes, and offers him a soft, heartbreaking smile. She leans forward to whisper in his ear, and he stops breathing when he feels the warm touch of her hand upon his chest, the tantalizing whisper of her breath against his earlobe.

"Our love could have made the world kneel at our feet," she murmurs, her lips brushing against his skin and sending a shockwave through him.

Her words echo around him as he snaps to consciousness.

Merlin sits up in bed, breathing hard. The pain is so much deeper, more cutting, at night, when he's alone and has nothing to distract him. But the image of her clings to his mind, and, even through the excruciating haze of agony and loneliness, he can't find it in himself to banish it. Because the pain is unbearable, but it would only hurt worse to stop thinking about her, to tell himself that they'll never see each other again.

Sighing, Merlin falls back against the pillows and stares up at the ceiling.

If her haunting him in his dreams is the only way to stay connected to her, then he welcomes it.