She was running out of time. Camelot's knights were closing in on her, with Arthur in the lead, chasing her and the two people who were helping her along with her wounded leg. She looked at one, Mordred, and he looked at her with big, blue eyes filled with worry for her and him. She then looked at the man helping her along, the guardian of Mordred.
"Keep going, Morgana," She heard Merlin call from behind.
He had come to look for her, to make sure she was safe. She knew he had. But suddenly her leg shot out to her and seemed to burn, as if a fire was inside it. She screamed and dropped to the ground, looking for someone, anyone, to help. She looked into Merlin's eyes and searched for something, anything that could tell her she would be alright, but instead she just saw dark clouds of worry and determination. Determination to get her safely back home. She cried out again.
Suddenly Merlin turned away to see Camelot's knights and looked back at her, saying, "You've got to go! I'll hold them off, but you need to get going!"
"No, Merlin, I couldn't ask you to do that for me," She said, her voice rising and her eyes burning with tears.
"Then don't ask me. Just get moving!"
His gaze held hers for a moment, as if wanting to say something, and as Mordred hurried her along, she promised him, "I will never forget this, Merlin."
Then she saw mist swirling around and all around her became black.
And then, she woke up.
"What on Earth?" She whispered to herself, and realized where she was. She was in a forest in Camelot, sleeping in the leaves of late fall. She had escaped the knights of Camelot only to come to this horrid, damp forest. Her sister was dead. She was in grieving, and tried to remember every promise she made her sister, so she could complete them.
But then she remembered her dream. It wasn't a dream, actually, but more like a memory. It had all happened, all those years ago, and Merlin had saved her.
Merlin.
He was a traitor, and she was disappointed in him. She had known he would choose Arthur for a leader, but she wished he had chosen her. She questioned what she ever did to him that would make him hate her so. She had never hurt him, at least, she hadn't before.
Or maybe, she thought, she had.
After all, was it not Merlin who had always saved her? Was it not he who wanted best for her? And wasn't it he who had sent her to discover herself? Did he really have feelings for her?
But it was also Merlin who had poisoned her. He had risked her own life and pretended to be her friend, pretended to have feelings for her.
She felt her blood boil. It was Merlin who killed Morgause. She didn't know how anyone so puny and useless could kill her powerful and mighty sister. She had to kill him, for Morgause. She couldn't have feelings, not for him. Not for anyone.
And yet, in the mind of her old self, in the safety she used to know existed in her, she felt a consciousness. It spoke to her quietly, in the voice of herself,
"I will never forget this, Merlin."
Morgana looked out and saw Camelot's castle, and on the top of the highest tower, with one hand raised in greeting, was Merlin. He looked sad, and she knew he was staring right at her. And, against herself, she waved back, and a smile crept on Merlin's face.
He had forgiven her.