A/N: This is my version of what should have happened after Season 1, instead of the craptastic developments in Season 2. Writing this was therapy and an escape from the show itself. It's an ArMor-shippers alternate ending, and I hope you enjoy it! Picks up from 113 when Arthur is gravely ill from being attacked by the Questing Beast.

Should Have Been

A fire raged in the darkness.

Arthur was lost, so lost, somewhere inky-black with a thick fog, making it hard to breathe and impossible to see. Was he drowning? No, for whatever was surrounding him was far too hot to be water. It was more like a scorching vapor. Pangs of heat coursed through him, as though a thousand poison-tipped bows had been launched at him. There was no logic, no reason, no hope… only pain. He didn't understand where he was, or how he had gotten here. Was he dying? Why was no one helping him? He was more frightened than he could ever remember – and he was rarely afraid. He had grown up surrounded by attendants and servants and guards, but now they were missing. So where the hell was everyone?

Alas, he was alone, with no one to save him. No one could hear his screams.

***

Morgana was curled into a ball on her bed, rocking slightly, her tear-stained face buried in her hands. This sort of behavior, in addition to being unbecoming of a lady of the royal court, was not something she ever resorted to. But nothing else, including her own pride, mattered now. Gaius had tried to give her something to calm her after the outburst in the courtyard, but she had refused to take it. Instead she had gone to her chambers, dismissing Gwen in order to be alone. It was not long – an hour, maybe two at most - before she heard the sound of racing hoof beats entering the court yard, of shouts of terror. She slowly rose from the bed and crept shakily to the window. It took all her courage to look below. No one had to tell her what was happening, because she already knew.

Arthur was dying.

The Questing Beast had marked its victim, just as she predicted it would. Just as she had tried to warn Arthur, but no one paid her any heed. They all brushed her off as a hysterical woman with a vivid imagination. After years of suffering from nightmares, it was hard to take Morgana's fears seriously. No one had made it her duty to protect Arthur, but she felt he was her responsibility, nonetheless. What could she do when no one – not even Merlin! - would listen to her? It wasn't as though she alone could physically restrain Arthur, especially when his mind was set on adventure and glory. Merlin and two guards had dragged her away, and Arthur went to his death.

Shivering, she hugged her knees tightly against her chest. She had lost track of how many hours it had been since he had been brought back. Now she was on edge, waiting for the tragic news.

She fingered the tiny glass vial that was clenched in her palm. Inside was the cure for her heartache, and end to her torture. She was just waiting to swallow it down, as soon as the bells tolled to announce Arthur's passing. Her purpose in life was to be with Arthur, and without him, there was nothing left.

Amid all the commotion, she had been able to sneak into Gaius's quarters and quickly locate the ground belladonna root. One of her hobbies when she was younger was reading up on herbal remedies and concoctions – even poisons. She liked learning about how powerful things in nature could be, although little did she know it would ever come to his morbid point. The deadly nightshade was the most notorious poison of all. By the time Gaius would realize that what little he possessed of this dangerous herb was gone, it would be too late for anyone to stop her.

Soon, she and Arthur would be together again.

***

The fog was beginning to lift, just a little. Black had turned to gray, raging fire had turned to mere sparks. His lungs seemed to be working now, drawing a breath felt almost natural again. Concentrating, he tried to remember how he had gotten to this dark place. He vaguely remembered a winged beast with teeth like lava-tipped arrows, sinking into his chest. That was his last memory, that and the instant knowledge that he was probably going to die.

But no! Now he felt differently, he could visualize his way out, and he absolutely refused to die. A greater sense of calm had draped over him like a soft blanket, and his priorities were changed. Someone needed him, just as much he needed her.

From outside this bubble-like state, he heard soft voices. Merlin? Yes, it sounded like Merlin. Hopefully the knave would figure out a way to get him out of wherever he was. Then there was a hand on his mouth, a trickle of liquid down his throat. The pure water was so cool and soothing. Arthur longed to arch up towards it, his body craving more but not yet obeying his mind's commands. He was still in a state of slow awakening, like a frozen forest after a snow storm.

Willing the muscles in his face, he began to open his eyes. It was hard work, slow work, but gradually the slits opened and he could see blurrily. The light was harsh and painful at first, but it meant he was alive! Moving his eyes about, Arthur realized he was in his own room, in his own bed. Just above him, he saw his father's face. It was strangely touching - had his father been here this whole time? Had it all been a dream? No, there was a definite throbbing in his chest, and the compression of a bandage. But he was alive! Relief and happiness filled his heart for a moment, and then suddenly a thought came over him so fervently that he could focus on nothing else.

One image, one name.

Morgana.

***

The bells were chiming. Morgana winced at the noise which invaded her private agony. She had been waiting for them, but the reaction she felt was not panic or grief, but curiosity. For the more she listened, the more she realized something peculiar. The bells! They were not slow and mournful, as she had expected them to be. They rang lightly and rapidly, filling Camelot with an exuberant, celebratory song.

Still clutching the belladonna in her palm, she leapt out of bed and raced to the door of her chambers. Whipping it open, she saw a chamber maid walking by, carrying a stack of bed linens. Morgana anxiously waved her over.

"Yes, my Lady?" The girl seemed shocked at the sight of Morgana in such a rumpled sight. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were puffy and red. She had been in her bed for nearly a full day, ignoring Gwen's pleas to rise and eat, wanting only to be alone.

"The bells?" she gasped, not yet daring to hope what she thought they meant. Could it be…? Was he…? "Why are they ringing? What's happening?"

"Why, haven't you heard?" the maid asked, beaming. "Arthur's life has been spared, the court physician found the cure. The Price lives!"

Morgana did not speak, or even move. A rush of emotions hit her chest with such force that she could barely draw a breath. The Prince lives.

The vial of belladonna fell to the ground and shattered.

***

He opened his eyes again. Now Gaius was kneeling over him, studying Arthur a little too closely for his liking. No matter how kind and trustworthy his father's old friend was, there was something about him that Arthur always found a bit creepy. It was not a particularly nice way to wake up.

"Don't try to speak," the old man instructed him, patting his shoulder. "Just take this, and get some rest." He dripped some water down his throat.

"Mor-," Arthur tried to tell him. It was his first attempt at vocalizing, and his throat was scorching. He desperately needed to see Morgana. He wasn't exactly sure why, but she needed to get here.

Gaius shook his head, misunderstanding what Arthur had whispered. "No, no more, not for a few more hours. Just sleep, Arthur."

Still restless, he closed his eyes. It was as if his entire world had tilted and Morgana was now the center of it. A thought was nagging him so strongly: she had warned him, almost as if she knew what would happen. Why hadn't he listened to her? Maybe he had brushed her off because she had been acting so strange lately. Things hadn't been normal between them for awhile now. Why, it was just a few weeks ago when he had gone to her in the dungeon, his heart positively aching at the sight of her chained in the straw. It had been worth the brutal argument with his father to get her freed. How he had longed to gather her in his arms right then and there, and kiss away those scars on her wrists. But he couldn't, for there was a distance between them now. How did that happen? Morgana was changing, and he felt guilty for not trying to find out why. Perhaps, deep down, he really didn't want an explanation… he just wanted her to be okay.

His mind troubled, Arthur fell into a fitful sleep.

***

When she finally got up the courage to visit him, it was late at night, and he was asleep. Morgana felt a bit relieved at this, because she was not sure of what to say, and afraid emotions would overwhelm her. Anger, relief, fear, sadness, and love – pure, raw love – gripped her. There were a million things she could say at that moment, not one of them appropriate: I told you so, you arrogant prat; I can see the future in my dreams; I was ready to die when I thought you were going to die.

The room was fully lit, even though it was late at night. She had convinced Uther to go get some food and water, to take a break from his constant bedside vigil. Gauis, Merlin, and Gwen rotated shifts, but Uther was a constant at his son's bedside. This warmed Morgana's heart, and she had coaxed him into looking after himself for a little while. His reluctant agreement was what gave Morgana this much-craved moment alone with Arthur.

She stood several feet away from the bed, afraid to creep any closer and wake him. Athur's sheets were pulled up just above his stomach, exposing his bare chest. Seeing his bare skin and taut muscles made her heart twinge with yearning; seeing the wound there made her heart twinge with pain.

Morgana caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the window – her hair was hanging messily, as her white night-gown hung loosely around her figure. She and Arthur hadn't seen themselves in such a state of undress since they were children. At least he was in such a deep sleep, he wouldn't see her looking so haggard. Why she was worried about how she looked to Arthur was silly, she knew, but something made her feel self-conscious.

The room was filled with the various items used to care for him – spare linen cloths, water, bowls, bandages and various bottles of liniments. She knew this room almost as well as her own, having barged, flounced, sneaked, or been invited in on countless occasions. Usually Arthur's clothing was tossed about, his boots in the middle of the floor and apple cores and bread crusts scattering the table. Thinking back to the many times she teased him for being such a slob, a smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. Oh, Arthur…

Morgana slowly took one step, her toes brushing the cold wooden floor. Another step followed, then another, until she was right beside Arthur. He looked so deeply and peacefully asleep that it frightened her, and she made sure to remember that he was alive, cured, only resting. There were times that Arthur himself just sucked her breath away, made her lungs seize up with passion and her throat choke with longing.

Tentatively, she reached her hand out, and lightly brushed his forehead with her fingertips. The warmth of his skin seemed to shoot up her arm. "I love you," she murmured, then quickly turned and fled back to her chambers.

***

"I love you."

Arthur had heard those three words, clear as the sky on an August afternoon. Despite the fog in his brain, he knew what he had heard. Somehow, her words rang through the deep veil of sleep which confined him. Yet it wasn't enough to pull him from sleep, but just enough to make him toss and turn until the morning light filtered in. She loved him! Just as, deep down, he had always loved her. Everything between them had just been so complicated and now suddenly it was hitting him. One day he would be the best King to ever rule Camelot, but only if she could be by his side. He needed Morgana.

Paying no heed to his physical condition, Arthur kicked off the covers and rolled out of bed.

"Sire!" gasped Gwen, who was standing nearby with a pitcher of water. "What do you think you're doing!"

"I need to do this," Arthur muttered, not realizing he hadn't been alone. He clutched the side of his bed for support, unsure of his wobbly legs.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, but you certainly can't go anywhere like that!" she scolded. There was nothing more scandalous than the prince of Camelot running around in his nightshirt, but Arthur didn't care. The walls around him were spinning, but he didn't care about that, either. His only concern was her.

"Watch me," he replied stubbornly as he left the room.

His legs felt like rubber, he wasn't even sure how many days had gone by since he last used them. Moving as quickly as he could, he trotted down the hallway with his heart about to burst from his chest. People stopped and stared, but the whispers and gasps and even titters of laughter didn't bother him. Let them see him like this, half sick and half crazy, let the whole kingdom know!

Within seconds, he crashed through the door to Morgana's chambers.

She was leaning against the wall, calmly looking out her window, almost as if she had been waiting for him. She didn't even look up when he entered. "Arthur," she said, looking tired and a little awkward. "I'm glad you're alright." Looking him up and down, she added with a half-hearted attempt at banter, "though I've never seen you look so positively ragged. What brings you here?"

Arthur wasted no time in getting to the point of what he wanted to tell her. There was no dodging or the issue or careful build up, he had to speak plainly or he might explode. He cleared his throat. "Morgana."

When she still didn't turn towards him, he said, "Look at me."

She did. And as their eyes met, he saw everything he had always wanted and everything they would become, together. "I want you to be my queen."

There was no reaction from her at all. He expected her to laugh, or cry, or something - anything, but she just continued staring at him. Finally she spoke. "I can't be your queen," she replied evenly.

Arthur sighed in frustration, rubbing his forehead. He was expecting her to resist; the proud, stubborn woman that she was. But he wasn't going to give up. "Why, Morgana? You love me." He pointed his finger at her. "You said it, I heard you. I love you and it's all very simple. So why not?"

"Because you aren't yet a king," she said simply, shrugging. "I can hardly be your queen when you yourself aren't a king."

Arthur laughed loudly, with a mixture of relief and exasperation. Why did she have to be so bloody literal about it? God, this woman drove him crazy sometimes – well, most of the time, and in the best and worst ways. "Then be my princess," he coaxed. "I am not yet a king but I am the prince."

"But I don't care to be a princess or a queen," she insisted, her voice choking with emotion and her eyes filling with tears.

Arthur could see her façade crumbling before him. Why was she being so resistant when he knew she felt just as he did? Unless she hadn't meant that she loved him in that way, perhaps? Her was about to think his hopes had been dashed, when she said the words that filled his heart with joy:

" I don't care about silly titles, Arthur. I just want to be with you."

He stumbled across the room, grabbing her up in his arms so forcefully that she came up off the ground. She clutched him so tightly that he had to pull back slightly, for the pain it caused in his wound. Her tears soaked his shirt as he held her. "I don't care about riches or power or crowns, I just want you," she whimpered. "Tell me you want that, too."

"I do." She was his, his Morgana. At last… or maybe she always had been? "You're shaking," he said gently, touching her face over and over. He had never seen her so vulnerable.

"I was so worried about you," she murmured.

"I should have listened to you. You tried to stop me and I didn't understand the danger."

"Yes," she said softly, resting her head against him. There was nothing left to say.

Both of them had the same idea, at the same moment: the much yearned for and totally natural meeting of their lips sealed their fate.

***

Three Months Later

Arthur and Morgana lay nestled together on a bear-skin rug, in front of the fireplace in Arthur's chambers.

"Do you think this bear could have ever imagined what would become of him?" she asked playfully, running her fingers through the hair of her new husband. Arthur had stalked and taken down the bruin two autumns before; she remembered how his bravado had been almost unendurable when he returned with the prize. Never could she have imagined just what a roll that thing would play in their lives. It was the sole witness to the consummation of their marriage.

All he managed to reply was a muffled, "Mmmmph." It was very warm in the room, and she wasn't sure if the heat from the fire of their bodies was hotter.

The wedding had been a lovely but harried affair. While she could have done without the formality and ceremony of it, she understood the importance of it to Camelot's people. She had never felt more beautiful in her ivory gown, and the proud glow in Uther's face was proof of just how happy he was at their union. During most of it, she found herself anxious to be alone with Arthur, just them, no maids or attendants or servants. Next there was the wedding feast, which seemed to last forever, when she didn't really have much of an appetite and was worried that Arthur was consuming far too much ale. Then Morgana was escorted to her chambers, where Gwen helped her into the new nightgown she was given specifically for this most private event. The ritual surrounding the impending intimacy made her feel downright exposed. The bedding of the royal couple was important, after all. Finally she was escorted to Arthur's chambers, where he had been readied and undressed, and then they were at last alone.

As frustrating as the long wait had been, it didn't matter how, as their bare bodies pressed up against each other. Morgana was still tired and a bit overwhelmed. It had been everything at once fierce and gentle, patient and anxious. There was pain like she had expected and pleasure beyond her imagination. Arthur was an attentive lover, and she did things that would probably cause her to blush in the morning light. This was a new power she had discovered, another hold she had over him.

Arthur had already fallen asleep, his head buried into the crook of her neck and his arm draped over her waist. After sleeping alone all her life, it felt strange to drift off here with him. And what a wonderful kind of strange it was.

***

Two Years Later

The day Uther died, both Morgana and Arthur shed tears.

Arthur stood on roof, looking over the kingdom that was now his. He felt no glory in the moment; only sadness and intimidation. His father's illness had come on suddenly, out of nowhere, and took them all by surprise. Prior to that, Uther had been so healthy that they all expected him to reign for a very long time.

He hadn't noticed his bride, the Princess and soon-to-be-Queen Morgana, walking up quietly behind him. Their lives would change dramatically, as would their relationship. Even in the days leading up to Uther's death, Morgana had acted strangely. It was as if she sensed something was going to happen. Arthur pushed the thought from his mind. So what if Morgana was perceptive? Yes, that was all it was.

She said nothing, but came to stand beside him. Her presence reminded him that he wasn't alone. Silently, in a private show of support and trust, she entwined her fingers with his. As was always the case with the two of them, the smallest gestures spoke volumes.

He would become the king that Camelot, and Morgana, deserved.

***

One Year Later

She sat idly sipping tea that spring morning, watching her husband prepare for the day ahead. Arthur stepped into his boots and shrugged on the jacket Merlin had just cleaned and pressed. It was their usual morning routine: after rising, they met in her chambers (if Arthur hadn't already spent the night there, which happened most of the time anyway) and together would break their fast. After a quick kiss goodbye, Arthur would be off for whatever 'kingly duties' awaited him.

"Morgana," he called, smoothing his hair with his hands. "I've not had my kiss this morning."

"No, and you won't be getting it, either," she snapped, fastening him with her glare. Had he not remembered? Last night, after a bawdy celebration for a newly-appointed knight, and having consumed far too much ale, Arthur had stumbled into her chambers and proceeded to roughly grope her. To try to ravage her, the Queen of Camelot - as if she was nothing more than a common concubine? Furious at his behavior, and disgusted by the stench of alcohol which surrounded him, she had pushed him off and sent him sprawling to the floor. Only in the morning light had she realized he had fallen asleep there.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Are you still angry about last night? I hardly remember what happened."

"Of course you don't remember," she shot back. "But surely you still smell the ale all over you? You reek."

"All I know is that I woke up on the floor, so I suppose someone pushed me out of bed," he growled.

"It is my bed. I can choose to sleep alone if I wish… like when my husband is acting like a drunken slob."

Arthur placed his hands on his hips. "I'm the king, and if I want to sleep in my queen's bed, then you must submit to my desires!"

Her laughter filled the room. "Don't even try that, Arthur" she groaned. Truly, they both knew that argument was fruitless. It was utterly ridiculous, in fact, because she was as likely to be a submissive mouse as he was to dance in the courtyard naked.

"Do you know how many women would consider themselves lucky to be in your place?" He was growing visibly more frustrated by the second.

She cocked her head to the side thoughtfully. "Yes. Perhaps one or two."

Merlin, standing nearby and readying Arthur's equipment, smiled and shook his head. He was usually privy to their little squabbles, and Morgana considered him a close friend to both she and Arthur.

Just before leaving, Arthur leaned over Morgana's shoulder and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek. "You'll get over it soon enough, sweetheart," he smirked, walking away.

Briefly, she considered lobbing her barely-nibbled loaf of bread at his retreating figure, but then resisted. He was probably right - after a few hours she would cool off and forget what had happened.

Despite being so annoyed, a reluctant smile lit up her face once he had gone. Arthur had changed in many ways, but at his core he was still the same silly boy she first met so long ago. There were times that his stubborn pride made him almost unbearable, and he was still reluctant to consider alternate opinions. Overall, though, he had been so good to her – their life together had rarely been anything but happy. She shouldn't fuss over such minor things. In fact, Morgana felt suddenly humbled by the memory of what had occurred a few nights ago…

Arthur had spent the night in her bed, and was there when Morgana jerked awake from a particularly terrifying nightmare. Her nightmares had calmed considerably over the years, but they still happened once in awhile. This time, when she awoke with a cry of fear, her sweaty hair was plastered to her neck, and her chest heaved as she fought for breath. Arthur instinctively pulled her close.

"It's alright, it was just a dream," he soothed. "Go back to sleep, Morgana."

"I can't," she gasped, clinging to his arm. "I can't sleep. I have to keep alert." There was some kind of creature, a horrifying beast with long teeth and rotting breath. It felt so real. She was too afraid to sleep, for fear that it was lurking just outside her chamber doors.

"You sleep. I'll sit up and keep watch," he offered smoothly, sliding out of bed.

Arthur positioned himself in the chair next to her bed. As Morgana laid back down and tried to calm herself with deep breaths, he reached over and lightly stroked her cheek. "You're safe, I promise. Sleep, love," he murmured, and her eyelids grew heavy. And sleep she did, deeply and peacefully, waking up to see dawn's light stretching across Arthur, still slumped in the chair. The tenderness he had shown that night touched her heart deeply.

Remembering all this, Morgana pushed her chair back suddenly, and jumped to her feet. Gwen, who was the only one left in the room, was clearing their breakfast dishes. "My Lady?" she asked. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine, Gwen. I just forgot to do something," Morgana replied, smiling easily. Without explaining herself, she exited the room quickly and strode downstairs.

Just beyond the windows, in the courtyard, she could see Arthur putting his knights through a rigorous training drill. As she quickly descended the steps, it occurred to her that she hadn't yet brushed her hair or changed from her dressing gown. Well, it certainly wasn't going to be her first emotional display in front of the knights. Perhaps, if she was lucky, they had forgotten the scene that happened nearly three and a half years ago.

It was Merlin who spotted her first, and when Arthur snapped at him for being too slow in picking up something (for some things never change), his servant merely raised an eyebrow and pointed. Arthur turned to look, and saw his wife flying across the courtyard to him.

"Morgana?" he called, looking instantly worried, forgetting any formal titles in his confusion. In public he usually referred to her as 'Madam' or 'My Lady'. As she ran up to him, he dropped his sword. "What's wrong? Has something happened?"

"No, my Lord," she grinned, feeling delightfully childish and blessed and so in love in that moment. "You forgot something this morning. Something very important."

Before he could reply, she pressed her lips to his, with great force. He returned her kiss with equal urgency, one gloved hand wrapping around her waist and the other cupping her chin. She knew that when it came to her, Arthur was unable to resist.

Although everyone else had stopped to stare at the unusual sight of such a passionate display, they soon simply smiled, shook their heads, and went on their way. It was obvious that the royal couple was a happy one, and that happiness, in turn, reflected on Camelot's fortune.

Morgana could not hear, nor feel, nor see, anything else in the world save one man: her king, her husband. The one who had been there all along and always would be. As their mouths finally parted, she whispered his name like a magic spell playing off her lips: "Arthur."