Disclaimer/AN: I don't own Merlin, happy now? I certainly am not. Why can't I own Merlin? Why? Okay, I'll stop being dramatic now. This is a little ficlet made so I can explore the morals and psyche of Morgana Pendragon. Please enjoy!

Phoenix

It's isn't an often occurrence that I find myself reminiscing on the events of the past, and if it so happened that I was, my thoughts were filled with bitter rage and loathing.

Even though my childhood was a happy one, before and after the death of my father – my true father – who was so wrongly deceived yet loved me with all he had still. I had nearly forgotten those times, and I cannot help but feel scornful when I think of the years spent as the King's ward. Like a doll. Like a puppet.

Status quo and social conduct chained me there, unlike the carefree and free-willed being my Gorlois had allowed me to be. I was not allowed to speak my mind. I was not allowed to go hunting. I was a lady and should act as such.

But my father's beliefs held fast, held close the little girl grieving the death of a loved parent. I was not one to bend over the pressure of the masses, or the other nobles for that matter.

And while some in Uther's court frowned down upon me and my behavior, my outspokenness and strong will – the traits unbecoming of a woman of my standing – I found that others admired it. Arthur had had no qualms about playing mock-battle with me back then, and we'd run around the training fields with wooden swords and later, when we were older, we'd race each other in the woods atop our steeds.

I always won.

Those had been small acts of rebellion, insignificant for Uther and he'd tolerated them with amusement or mild annoyance. For him, they weren't an issue.

The issue, it so happened, came in the form of one Guinevere, daughter of Tom the blacksmith. At the age of thirteen, I had profusely and repeatedly rejected the "need" to still have someone attend to every little need I could ever have, and the ones I didn't.

Gorlois had thought me to be independent, and this place was slowly but surely stealing one of the things I valued most from me. My independence. My freedom.

Just like Gwen was stealing my rightful throne now.

But Gwen had been a stepping stone, a war flag with which I clearly stated that I would not back down or bend under authority. I would be friends with whomever I chose to be! After all, position in society had not mattered to me. I saw everyone as equal, for I had been humbled long ago.

The death of Gorlois, brave and unconquerable, had taught me that anyone could fall.

And how the mighty had fallen.

I barely remember the first time I bore witness to the monstrosity that is an execution, only smoke and screaming that grated my ears, burned my eyes and nose and begged me to look away. But, curious and naïve child that I was, I had not yet realized what was happening. I had not realized the person making those awful noises was dead even after the screaming stopped. Only when I gazed at the charred remains of what once might have been deigned human did I realize what had happened.

The first time I saw it, I did not look away but for every time that followed, I could not stand to watch.

It was a long time after – far too long – that I came to realize just how unjust – cruel, cold-hearted – Uther – monster! – really was.

I was a fool for letting you live father. That world is so bitter, so wrong because the only one who was ever reserving of that title was Gorlois! What ever gave Uther the right to even think of himself in that way?!

I shake my head, I've let you live once, I tried to forgive you. I won't be making that mistake again!

I still see the face of every sorcerer burned and beheaded and tortured as Uther watched contentedly as his life's work presented itself for all to see, over and over and over.

And people saw Mary Collins as a monster, but all I could think of her when she disappeared from the courtyard was that poor mother.

And I had stood up for them, as much as I could and as much as I tried to, back then, in had never been enough.

But then Morgouse came into my life. Sweet, strong, independent sister of mine, who died weak and in pain. It was a death she did not deserve, but it was a death she wanted to use, to sacrifice even her last moments on this Earth for me. And perhaps, and it pains me to say this as though swords and arrows had pierced my heart a thousand times, it had been for the best. I had tried to make it quick. I had tried to honor her sacrifice. I had tried to make her proud.

I had failed, in the end.

And at the end of it all, I still see my sister's face as the memories of our time spent together war with one another – from the time of her gifting me the dream-bracelet, back when I knew not who she truly was, and to her disfigured, pained face that still managed to retain it's beauty and the kindling flames of her passion and strength.

She had seemed so invincible, back then, power and intelligence shining in her bright eyes, encompassed in her beautiful face. A face that had all too soon twisted in agony, before going completely, rigidly still.

I guess that's why her death had hit me so hard, because I'd never have thought that that lowly servant – bastard! You'll pay for this! – would fell the great Sorceress Morgouse.

I do not feel week in admitting that I grieved for her and cried like I hadn't in years, like I hadn't when I mourned the loss of my Camelot, the one we had both dreamed about.

I was never a cold person, never like that tyrant Uther. My heart cried out for every man, woman and – Magic forbid – child, he convicted. What did they ever do to him?! What justified the slaughter of so many innocent people?

That is why I must avenge them. That's why I will build a kingdom they could only dream about now, no matter what the price. No matter who had to die for it.

But the ones I slaughter are not innocent, they oppose me, they are my tools, and if I take their lives it is for a higher cause.

It was a worthy sacrifice.

Thank you, Sister, for showing me the way.

Review, please? I promise I don't bite. ;)