Title: The Masquerade
Category: Het (Canon AU)
Characters/Pairings: Merlin/Morgana
Rating/Warnings: M
Summary: Deep in the heart of Camelot, a powerful deception is woven by a man who's just a little too good at keeping secrets. An alternative to Episode 2x03, in which Merlin decides to take matters into his own hands rather than sending Morgana off to the Druids to learn the truth about her magic.

Author's Note: Loosely inspired by "The Phantom of the Opera."

Part I: The Summoning

The scars were only the beginning.

Magic of the soul, was how the book described the disfigurement spell, wherein one must draw upon the damage within and pull it to the surface. Speak the words, utter them clearly and without hesitation, while focusing your energies on the mistreatment you've suffered throughout the course of your existence.

"Utanweard hearmcwalu!"

At first, he was only a panicked boy assaulted by memories of petty childhood insults, along with recollections of a mother who'd only ever provided the opposite of what he needed in this moment: pain, fear, isolation, sorrow…

But then he brought himself back to more recent times and the man inside him finally emerged, an eerie sort of resignation settling over his features as his smooth skin began to thicken and distort. It was there in his eyes as he slowly transformed – the deep, gut wrenching loneliness that was his sole reason for performing this particular spell.

"Then you believe me? You think it's magic, too. Please, Merlin, I just need to hear someone say it so I don't have to keep feeling like I'm imagining it."

No, he couldn't tell her the truth… and yet how could he stand by and do nothing? Even if she learned to control her powers and keep them hidden, what could be worse than living with the knowledge that the people she loved might very well put her to death if they ever learned her secret?

It didn't matter what Gaius said – how could he possibly understand the pain of being despised for the way you were born? For him, magic was a choice, one that could be nurtured or pushed away at will. He'd never know how much it hurt to be reminded twenty, fifty, a hundred times a day that simply being himself was an unforgivable crime in the eyes of the world.

But she would know, left to suffer in silence for years if he didn't do something to help her now. Even worse, she'd be forced to listen to that sort of hatred coming from the lips of the people who might as well have been her own family. She wouldn't have a mentor like Gaius to rely upon, nor a loving mother to lend her strength when she needed it most. She'd be…

Alone.

Gritting his teeth against the sensation of a hot blade slicing through his cheek, Merlin struggled to keep his thoughts on Morgana, along with the deep conviction that had driven him to cast this spell. Morgana – innocent and kind, generous to a fault and more beautiful than words could describe. She didn't deserve…

He let out a gasp – not from the pain, but in response to the abrupt absence of it. And just like that, it was done.

That first night was the only time he'd confront his own reflection while wearing the disguise. He'd just wanted to make himself difficult to recognize, but the face staring back at him was hardly a face at all. Only his eyes were familiar – beyond that, the physical manifestation of his emotional pain was beyond description. Letting out a humorless chuckle at the thought that Edwin Muirden would've been downright handsome in comparison, he whispered an incantation that turned the mirror into something else entirely.

No, there would be no mirrors in this place, nothing to reflect the truth in the midst of so much necessary deception. Lifting the conjured mask to his face, he secured it over his distorted features before turning to inspect the dilapidated chamber.

There was still a lot of work to do.

It was three nights before Morgana responded to the call.

The first time she heard it was terrifying, the strange male voice in her head met by frantic screams, followed by a hasty explanation when Gwen had come rushing into the room. She sent her maidservant home early on the second night, having convinced herself that it had been nothing more than the product of an overactive imagination. After all, it wouldn't be the strangest thing to have happened to her as of late.

But then the voice had come to her again later that evening, leaving her to question her own sanity before a single memory resurfaced to put her at ease.

Mordred.

The Druid boy had spoken to her without words, and although this voice was different, certainly older, there was something oddly familiar about it. It pleaded with her to find the owner deep within the Citadel, at a location beneath the first floor she wasn't sure she'd ever even visited before.

Morgana. Morgana, please.

Was this man another Druid? Thanks to Uther's latest decree, those who were under even the slightest suspicion of magic were being hunted like dogs in the streets. It wouldn't have surprised her to discover that one of them had taken refuge in the labyrinthine passageways beneath the castle.

Morgana, I won't hurt you. I swear it.

How did he know her name? Well, everyone did, of course, but that didn't explain why he didn't address her by her proper title. Only those she was closest to had a habit of skipping the formalities.

I just need to see you.

And then guilt overruled any further sense of caution. After all, it was her fault that these people were in danger in the first place… well, more danger than usual. Didn't she have an obligation to help this man if he needed her?

Yes.

But by the time she'd made up her mind, pale light was beginning to creep into her bedchamber and all was silent. And so she waited out the day, hoping against hope that the man would call out to her again when she finally retired that evening. Her distress was even more magnified when several newly captured prisoners were brought before the king that afternoon, then sentenced to death without a trial. She watched in helpless terror as they were dragged away, praying that the mysterious man wasn't among them. The alternative was unthinkable – what if her own hesitation had condemned him to a slow and painful death?

Two nights after she'd cried out in fear at the sound of his voice, she wept with relief when it materialized in her head once more. By then there was no question – she slipped on her cloak, passing like a ghost through the lightly guarded corridors.

Where are you?

Again, she questioned her own sanity as she willed the thought in his direction… until she received an answer.

I'm down here, Morgana. Take the secret passageway behind the statue on the first floor.

She frowned in confusion. Which one?

The one that has a large crack just below the knee. It's across from the…

I know where it is.

Tap on its… its groin. Three times should do it.

Morgana did as he instructed, letting out a gasp of surprise as the statue glided aside to reveal a small opening. Casting a surreptitious glance up and down the empty corridor, she slipped inside. How do I close…?

But there was no need to ask; it slid right back into place behind her. Amazing!

It was becoming easier, this talking without words. Soon enough, it required no more effort than opening her mouth to speak.

I've never been down here before, she told him in her mind as she passed through the dusty, heavily cobwebbed passageway that was illuminated by a source of light she couldn't see. I didn't even know it existed.

Few people do, he echoed back to her. Just a little further now. When you come to the wall, take a right and look for the loose brick on your left side. It should be about chest level… erm, eye level for you.

How do you know how tall I am? A shiver of fear skittered up her spine, but it was too late to turn back now.

I know a lot of things about you, Morgana. Most importantly, I know you're someone I can trust. I hope to prove the same.

Swallowing the last of her trepidation, she dragged her fingers across the smooth stone surface, on the verge of asking him for further instruction when her hand passed over a small protrusion.

How?

Push on it.

Nothing's happening.

A little harder, Morgana. Try again.

Strangely enough, the reverberation of his voice sounded even more nervous than she felt as the wall gave a gentle shudder, parting to reveal an archway that led into…

She let out a gasp, her eyes wide as she stepped forward into the comfortable little room. The furnishings looked old, as if they'd been salvaged from some storage chamber that had lain untouched since the time of the ancient kings. And yet they were newly polished – table and chairs, wardrobe and washstand, along with a large bed that was draped with the sumptuous furs that had been used long before the time of silken pillows and brocaded blankets.

"I don't understand," she blurted out, her own voice sounding harsh and unfamiliar to her ears.

It was then that he stepped forward, moving out of the shadows to stand before her as he dipped his head in a respectful nod. He was tall and slender, clad in a dark cloak with his arms buried within the folds. But that wasn't the unusual part – she wasn't even aware of the hand she raised to her mouth as she peered up at his face.

He was wearing a mask.

It was nothing grotesque – on the contrary, it was crafted from an intricately carved piece of oak, fashioned in the contours of what could only be described as a perfect male profile. High cheekbones, a strong nose, lips that were well formed and almost sensuous… she was suddenly overwhelmed by the temptation to run her fingers over the smooth wood. Instead, she swallowed hard and took a quick step backward.

"I must seem strange to you," he said quietly.

"No, I…" But she trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

"I suppose you're wondering who I am."

She nodded mutely.

"And why I asked you to come?"

"Yes."

The man held out his arm, indicating the closest empty chair. "Sit down and I'll explain."

She stayed right where she was as she continued to stare at him, torn between fear and insatiable curiosity.

"Morgana, if I had any intention of hurting you, it wouldn't matter whether you were here at the table or over there by the door. It won't open."

Oh, he shouldn't have said that. They'd been doing so well…

"I demand you release me at once!" she shrieked, beating on the door with her small fists. "How dare you…?!"

"Morgana, please…"

She whirled around, glaring at him with fire in her eyes. That was Morgana, all right – any trace of fear had been immediately swallowed by her righteous fury.

"Morgana," he tried again, holding out both hands in a helpless gesture. "I didn't bring you down here to…"

"To trap me?" she snapped, flinching away from him. "To scare me half to death? Even if you don't mean to hurt me, I really don't appreciate…"

"Tospringe," he interrupted in a quiet voice.

Morgana, who'd been shoving ineffectually at the door, stumbled and nearly fell as it suddenly came open. He reached out to steady her, but then quickly removed his arms and put some distance between them in response to the wary look in her eyes.

"I wasn't trying to trap you. The door can only be opened with magic. I… it's safer for us both."

She seemed to ponder that for a moment, then gave him a curt nod as she moved past him and dropped into a chair. "Well?" she said abruptly. "You're right – I shouldn't be down here, especially in the middle of the night. Someone could easily discover that my chamber is empty, so you'd better just go ahead and…"

"Did you send Gw- your maid home early?"

He winced as she gave him a suspicious look, relieved that she couldn't see the anxious expression he was wearing beneath his mask. Oh, he was mucking this all up. How was this ever going to work?

"How do you know I have a maid, or that I…?"

"I've lived in the palace for ten years," he cut in hastily. "I might keep to the shadows, but I see things. Hear things. It's not that I intend to eavesdrop, but…" He trailed off, pointing at the grate above his head. "Sometimes I can't help it."

Morgana frowned as he settled himself in a chair across the table. "Where does that lead?"

"The Council Chamber." It was a risk to make such a claim, but at the same time, it would go a long way in explaining why he seemed to know a lot more than he should have.

"So you overhear official business," she said slowly. "Sensitive information that could endanger us all if it got into the wrong hands."

He leaned forward just a little, reaching for the bottle of wine that was resting on a shelf beside his head. "Trust me, Morgana… Uther is a far greater danger to me than I am to him."

She gave him a long, measuring look. "Yes," she conceded after a moment. "I'm sure you're right about that. But if you know that, why…?"

Uncorking the bottle, he filled a pair of pewter goblets to the brim before pushing one across the table. The story he'd come up with to explain his presence had seemed plausible enough when he was on his own, but now… he only hoped it would be enough for her to believe as well. If she didn't…

Well, that didn't bear thinking.

"I was just a little boy when my family and I were captured," he started quietly. "My father and mother were Druids, as am I, of course. We didn't do anything wrong, I swear we didn't, but…"

She nodded, the skepticism in her eyes suddenly replaced by something that looked a lot like compassion.

"Upon the king's orders, they were both burned in the fires. I was supposed to meet the same fate, but… well, I don't know which one of them managed to do it, but I felt the ropes come free. I heard both of their voices in my head, screaming at me to run, to hide, and that's what I did. The soldiers were searching the lower town, obviously expecting that I'd try to get out of the city, but…"

"You came here instead," she finished for him.

"Yes. Everyone was gathered outside to watch the executions. It just made sense to run in the other direction, I guess. After hiding in storage rooms and back passageways for a few weeks, I stumbled across this place by accident. I've been living here ever since."

"For ten years?" She stared at him with wide eyes. "And you've never been caught?"

He shook his head with a smile she couldn't see. "I've come close a few times, but I've been lucky so far."

"But how do you…?" She gestured to her goblet of wine, still left untouched.

"Food and other things?" At her nod, he continued with a quiet chuckle. "Very carefully, but I manage well enough. I'm sorry, I… I guess it's technically stealing, but I never take more than I need."

"No, it's all right," she said softly, tracing a finger around the top of the cup. "I'd say you're entitled to it after everything you've lost, and Uther can certainly afford it. I… I just can hardly believe… ten years? Have you ever tried to escape?"

"No."

"I know you've been lucky, but surely you must realize how dangerous it is. If the king ever found out…"

He shrugged, reaching for his goblet before it occurred to him that he had no way to actually drink through the mask. "This is the only home I know," he told her. "Besides, it's not like I would be much safer anywhere else."

"But you have to be… well, doesn't it get lonely?"

"Sometimes. But that would be true no matter where I was. I don't know anybody, I…"

She leaned forward, reaching out to touch his hand for a moment. "But if you were out in the world, back with your own kind, perhaps, you could make friends. You could…"

"Maybe," he said with another shrug. "But I have no idea how to survive out there, while I do well enough right where I am. And anyway, this," he paused to point at his face, "might make it a bit more difficult."

"You were burned?"

"Yes, before I managed to escape. The scars…"

"Are not your fault!" she interjected with a sudden flash of anger in her eyes. "You shouldn't have to feel ashamed…"

"I don't," he said, not wanting to send her off on an unnecessary tirade. "I'm just not really comfortable with the way I look now. The mask might scare other people if they saw it, but I feel safer with it on."

"I think I understand," she responded, resuming the same quiet compassion that had been so evident in her expression before. "After what you've been through, the way you've lived ever since, no one but a fool or a tyrant would begrudge you anything that made you feel more secure."

Merlin let out a sigh of relief, having expected more questions where the mask was concerned, perhaps even for Morgana to pressure him to remove it. But then again, perhaps she did understand – after all, she was in hiding herself, even if she didn't fully realize it just yet.

If it were up to him, she never would.

"I guess you're still wondering why I called for you," he said after a moment. When she nodded, he continued. "Well, I know what you've been going through recently."

The wary look was back. "What do you mean?"

"The nightmares? Setting your chamber on fire? Strange things have been happening to you, and you're frightened. You're terrified this means you have magic."

Morgana actually flinched at the word. "How do you know that?"

He pointed at the grate above their heads again, which he quickly realized was a drastic mistake when all the color drained from her face. She let out a gasp, raising one hand to cover her mouth.

"Does Uther suspect…?"

"No!" he said hastily. "No. I've only heard about the fires, and the physician has mentioned treating you for nightmares several times. As for the rest, I just… I sensed it. Anyway, it's not hard to figure out that the king's ward would fear the worst if such strange things were happening around her."

Morgana looked relieved, but only slightly. "But if you sensed it… and the way I can hear you in my head and respond… you're not the only one, you know. There was a Druid boy, a little over a year ago…"

"Mordred," he confirmed, then cringed. But she was too distracted to realize that once again, he knew more than he should have. She was leaning far across the table, peering into his eyes so intently that he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Tell me the truth," she said, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. "Do I have magic?"

Merlin hesitated, the words bubbling up in his throat with an insistence he found nearly impossible to swallow. How much he wished he could just admit it, both for her sake and his own. To have a friend, a confidant, someone with whom he could share his secrets, his fears, the ever present loneliness he was forced to live with each and every day. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad for either of them if they had one another to lean on?

But no, he couldn't do it. Not only had he made a promise to Gaius, but the older man was right – she'd be much safer if she never knew the truth.

"No," he said quietly after a long pause. "You don't have magic, Morgana."