FOR THOSE WHO ARE READING THIS AS A STAND ALONE:
The only things you have to know: this is set post-series3 (disregard everything that's happened in series 4), Arthur has lifted the ban on magic, publicly made Merlin Court Sorcerer, and dubbed him 'Merlin Emrys.' Morgause, also, is still alive, and Morgana, though more powerful with magic, still struggles with control when her emotions get out of hand. Bulin was an OC in my other fic, a man who was an auctioneer (in my definition, a torturer who sold information to the highest bidder). He was killed by Merlin whilst protecting some Druids.
Warnings: Some violence and swearing
Disclaimer: IDOM
AN: Well, it appears that I couldn't wait for this one. :P This fits in with my series, which I have decided to call "Prophesized" (I decided it needed a name. If anyone has a different, more appropriate idea, I'll be glad to take it into account, though I admit I'm quite proud of what I have). This is Morgana's reaction to the events that unfold in Powerfully Modest, Modestly Powerful. On my very first author's note in my very first story, I admitted that I thought I would never write Morgana correctly, and I still stick to that belief. After watching 4x12 (WASN'T IT JUST AMAZING!), I know that there is no possible way I can balance her character...so, considering that, I think she's a little OOC, but that may not be your opinion at all. But it was good fun to write from her point of view :P I used quite a few lines from series 4 in here that I just couldn't help but add by the way. ;)
So, with that, enjoy. :)
"My Lady, we have found him."
For a moment, the young woman felt a jolt of vicious excitement in her chest. For just one moment, she didn't register the man's tone of tone of voice, the disdainful sneer or the lip curled in disgust. She didn't even recognize that it was not the voice of the man she had been waiting anxiously for, the voice she desired to hear.
With a smirk on her graceful, pink lips, Morgana's pale green eyes, fiery with a warped glee, flickered underneath the curtain of dark hair hiding her face, and she squeezed the frail hand of her sister, who managed to add a little pressure in return.
Instantly, when she saw who the man was, she felt a crushing disappointment, and turning away with obvious frustration, she scowled and snapped sharply, "You forget your manners, Damen."
The mediocre renegade's dark hazel eyes drifted to the healer now hovering over Morgause's form. His eyes widened with shock to see her one brown eye wide open and staring. Bowing slightly and wincing, he said, "My apologies, My Lady. I did not realize you were awake."
Morgause merely blinked at him, and Morgana saw her sister's disregard and contempt for the poor sorcerer in front of them.
Damen, running a hand through his close-cropped dusty brown hair, turned to the healer and smiled genuinely. "Greetings, Mya."
The healer, apparently called Mya (Morgana hadn't bothered to learn the woman's name), only briefly looked up in acknowledgement, a small smile on her lips, but seeing Morgana's narrow-eyed glare of impatience, she lowered her gaze quickly and fearfully and returned to her work with trembling hands.
This reaction did not go unnoticed by Morgana, who couldn't help but feel smug that this woman feared her, that she felt intimidated by her. She and Morgause needed people to fear them and ultimately respect them…
She hated to admit, but most of the few who had joined and helped the two witch-sisters were criminals—greedy and corrupted men who wanted a taste of power and revenge. Those types often had their own agendas. Morgana knew that she had to assert her dominance over the rebels and that she had to make sure that they knew just who the leader was. It would do no good if they didn't obey and follow her without question. They would be useless otherwise and… dispensable.
But this mentality was like tiptoeing on the extreme edge of a precarious cliff-side. Morgana did not realize that she needed their full loyalty and steadfast, unwavering belief in her, her leadership, and her ideas just as much as their respect in order to truly prevail, but after that wretched boy poisoned her, after her guardian—that awful tyrant—lied to her and continuously abused his power and forced her to fear for her life, after the fiasco with the knights of Camelot during her short time as Queen, she no longer believed in loyalty.
To get what you want, there was only fear and physical power… That was one thing that she thought Uther Pendragon had taught her well. The strength of fear would trump and trample the strength—if you could call it strength—of loyalty, and no one could convince Morgana differently.
No, she didn't believe in loyalty. She understood loyalty, but she did not believe in it. She had no reason to because she not only had no heart left to create such strong bonds of loyalty and friendship but also because she had no one to be loyal to. She had only but one thing in mind: the throne of Camelot...and perhaps Morgause.
Unfortunately, this obstinate belief would be her undoing.
When Morgana spoke again, her voice was soft, but there was no denying the menace lurking under the surface. "I do believe I recall ordering not to be disturbed."
Damen's face faltered, and he began to stutter, "Well—I—erm—you see—we—"
Spit it out, Damen, a weak voice whispered in their minds.
Morgana worriedly turned to her sister, a twinge of sadness and bitterness touching her as she looked down on the elder blonde woman, who used to stand so strong but who was now… reduced to this. "Sister," she said quietly, "do not waste your strength on something so petty."
Because of her injury, an injury that still baffled them, Morgause could not speak, and she was too weak to move. Her magic was weakened just about as much as her broken body, but her brain was still churning with intelligence. The only magic that she could still control was mind-speak, and even her hold on that magic was tentative. It took a lot of Morgause's strength, strength that was rapidly fading, no matter how often the healer, who was one of the most accomplished healers of all the five kingdoms, tried to coax her back to full health.
Whoever did this was going to pay... and pay dearly.
Mogause's chest rose and fell in a sigh. Do not fondle me like a pup, Morgana, Morgause said to her alone, I know my strength.
Morgana wanted to protest, but hearing the pride in her sister's voice, she knew better and bit her tongue. That high pride would one day kill her, Morgana decided with a somewhat sarcastic fondness. It had already led her to exhausting herself and subsequently fainting into an unconscious state that lasted a week.
Now thoroughly irritated, Morgause prompted, Bulin, Damen?
Damen shifted on his feet, looking down at his boots. No one liked to be the harbinger of bad news, and unfortunately for him—as Morgana discerned from his anxious behavior—he was just that. "He's dead," Damen said bluntly.
Morgana hissed, and rage bubbled through her veins. She shook her head, jaw clenched in tense anger. "Fool!" she snarled.
Pity. He had talent, Morgause said. It is too bad it was wasted on him. He could have proved most useful.
Morgana resented the loss of such a powerful ally, but on the other hand, she felt a grim satisfaction that the ruthless and dangerous man had gotten no less than he deserved. He had been rabid dog with no master and with no intention of ever being leashed or tamed. A man that headstrong, she thought logically, is dangerous. He did not know his place. "How?" Morgana snapped at Damen.
"He had two wounds. One from a spell to the chest...well, if that didn't kill him, there was the knife in his stomach. We believe he fell onto a dagger he was holding after being struck down by magic."
He confronted him, Morgause deduced confidently.
"That damn imbecile! We warned him, did we not? Arrogant fool! He could have ruined everything for us!"
"If I may, My Lady, how would you know for certain…that it was him?" Damen asked confusedly.
We cannot deny the fool's tracking prowess or his magical and weaponry skills, Damen. There were none better than he as an auctioneer-assassin. If anyone could have found him, it was Bulin. And not many sorcerers could kill a man like Bulin with one spell. He was far too skilled for such an easy, quick death.
"That daft man could have ruined all our chances to ask for his assistance, Morgause," Morgana growled.
Morgause was silent for a moment before she said to the room, We must hope that the auctioneer did not potentially turn him against us.Solely to Morgana, she added, He may not be your last hope, but he is certainly mine.
Morgana felt angry and sad tears building in her eyes. Mya, no matter how powerful a healer, had told her long before that it would take nothing short of a miracle to restore Morgause to what she once was, and both sisters knew that Morgause's time was short.
They could only hope that it wasn't too short. The need to find him and convince him of joining their cause had never been direr as Morgause's life and spirit faded each and every day. And then there was the want to find the elusive warlock. With him on her side—Morgana shivered with pleasure—she would be unstoppable.
But the man was nearly impossible to find. They had tried to learn more about the sorcerer from the Druids, but they were extremely…reluctant to share their precious Prophecies with an outsider. Especially when she was the outsider. So, they knew nothing but his fame, his secrecy, his power, and his name: Emrys.
Despite this, Morgana was confident that they would receive their prize. Failure did not once cross her mind, but now, with Bulin having threatened their chances…and seeing how he was killed so effortlessly by the strong sorcerer (no doubt because Bulin had not listened and chose to resort to violence to capture him), she had the first, smallest inkling of doubt.
A sorcerer that powerful might not be so willing to place his power in her hands and submit to her command.
"Leave us," Morgana ordered carelessly. A small smirk appeared as she tilted her head to look up at Damen. With mock pity and in a pouting voice, she said, "And make sure word of Bulin's fate is spread amongst the others. We don't want another unfortunate incident such as this to happen again, now would we?"
Damen shook his head vigorously, eyes wide. There was a warning and a threat in her voice, and he knew that Morgana's threats, no matter how small or how concealed, were never idle. "No, My Lady."
Dropping the compassionate mask, she snarled, "Well, get to it. And know that the next one who disturbs me whilst I'm here in these chambers, without extraordinarily good reason, will find themselves kissing the floor. Make sure the guards are aware because they'll be the first to taste the dirt."
The man's face paled, and he darted away, but not before Morgana caught the fearful hatred in his dark eyes.
"My Ladies," the healer said softly as she wiped her hands impulsively on a rag. "I have finished the treatment, and if there will be nothing else, I will take my leave until tomorrow."
Morgana's harsh, hard exterior persona melted with genuine gratitude. She knew that the woman, while there to heal Morgause, had no love for either of the two sorceresses, but Morgana was as polite and amicable as she could be to the woman although she still maintained her aloof superiority by never addressing the healer by her name.
Raising her chin in thanks, she said, with a kindness that hadn't been seen since she had been poisoned by someone she once called a friend and with a smile that was completely unrelated in every way to her trademark smirk, "That will be all."
The sisters were left alone in that drafty room of that godforsaken, abandoned, and crumbling tower, both silent as thoughts of the more subtle consequences of Bulin's death occupied their minds.
Morgause mused to Morgana, We must seek Emrys through other means.
"Which other means? The Druids will not speak, and the renegades cannot give us any more information than we already have. Having been Druids for most of their lives, they only know that they will recognize him on sight, but not who he is. We have already decided that sending them out to search for us is counterproductive and completely unpractical…impossible even.
"I'm beginning to wonder, Morgause," Morgana sighed, "I'm a fool for not wondering before—why, if this Emrys is as powerful as he as made out to be…why he would even consider joining us at all? With that much magic at his command, he could do as he wished; he could have even brought Camelot to its knees by now! He could have the throne to himself; he could have us bowing at his feet. Did you ever think of that? But why hasn't he? He remains hidden...and…nothing has happened. Perhaps he doesn't know of his own name, his own proclaimed destiny…perhaps he doesn't realize his own strength? No, he must, so why have we only just learned of him?
"I don't understand the man. I think—" Morgana's voice cracked "—I think we were hasty to put our hopes into this decision. We know nothing about him, and he could just as easily side against us as he would with us…if he would even consider sharing a victory against Camelot with other sorcerers or if he would even consider allowing me to take the throne, like I rightly deserve. I wouldn't if I was him. If I was him, I'd keep the power for myself; I do not deny it. But, then again, Emrys is…peculiar. I fear that this will not end well."
Morgause was silent, and then she said, You may be right, you may be wrong…Either way, we must find this Emrys. If your suspicions are wrong, we have already won. If you are right, you still need to keep a close eye on him. He—he could become your greatest threat, your most lethal enemy…your doom.
The words struck Morgana's heart like a crossbow bolt. Her breathing rate hitched, and she felt her hands become clammy with fear. What made her even more afraid was her reaction, and she struggled to calm herself. The hypothetical should not have disturbed her in this way, and yet, the words seemed to hang in the air, hauntingly heavy and ominous… The words were hers—in the sense that… they had been prewritten for her.
Destiny was beginning to deepen her embrace.
She scoffed at herself, which helped control her sudden, inexplicable fear. That was utterly ridiculous. Despite that, she couldn't help dwelling on the words, and though she did not know it now, she would continue to dwell, for years and years to come.
"What do you suggest we—?" Morgana was cut off by a loud whoosh of air and an even nosier thud of heavy doors being propelled open.
A man burst in, struggling against the guards. Blue eyes bloodshot and wide with anticipation, he panted heavily. His clothes and hair were sloppy, greasy, and travel-stained, and it looked as though he had ridden as though hell's fires were at his heels, not once stopping for rest or food.
Morgana, whose magic had risen with her fiery temper, felt a burn of rage, but then, it cooled as suddenly as it arose. She sprung to her feet, recognizing the young man as Llwyd, whose parents had been Druid renegades before they were killed by Camelot patrol. It was obvious he had feelings for Morgana, and it was so very fun to manipulate him. No matter how cruelly she treated him, no matter how her words stabbed at him, he was quite persistent and followed her blindly—like a lost puppy. He had considerable magical talent, and she put him to good use as her spy.
"Release him!" she cried wrathfully, her anger rising once again at the incompetent guards (who were probably just as daft, if not dafter, than the oblivious Camelotian soldiers).
The guards dropped the weary man's arms, and stumbling forward on weak legs, he only just managed to keep himself from failing to the ground. However, it hardly mattered that he regained his balance because once he had regained it, his legs gave out, and he lowered himself to the floor less than gracefully.
Morgana ignored Llywd for a moment, and she stared down Morgause's guards, who shifted under the enchanting but deadly pale green gaze and who froze with fear. Through her perfect, clenched teeth, she hissed slowly, "This is what constitutes as 'extraordinarily good reason.' If you cannot follow my orders…or even understand them… I might as well dismiss you all."
She barked a laugh, and with a feral snarl on her face, she thrust her hand out, her magic coursing through her veins like adrenaline….no, like a drug.
Her eyes were consumed with gold, and before the guards could even register her intentions, they were suddenly lifted to their feet and thrown like rag-dolls into the stone wall behind them. Hideous cracks resounded, and the bodies slumped to the floor.
Unlike Llwyd, who winced and avoided looking at the grotesque scene out in the hall, Morgana did not react—though her lips twitched into a cruel smile—and she simply closed the doors with magic, looking unconcerned about the murders she may or may not have performed.
When she turned her attention to Llwyd, her pale eyes lost their brutal light and studied him hungrily. The man exhaled heavily and staggered to his feet once again. "My Ladies," he greeted politely.
Morgana inclined her head, interest and curiosity overtaking her previous wrath. Once word had reached her of Uther Pendragon's death (there had been a great feast on that day), Morgana had immediately dispatched Llwyd to Camelot so that he might be able to sneak into the city for her dear brother's coronation. She warned him not to strike but to watch and listen, and judging from the urgency at which he had rode back to her, she had been wise to do so.
"Llwyd, how fares the mighty Camelot?" she asked sarcastically.
He sighed shakily and chuckled with edginess. "It—well—" he stuttered. "I'm not entirely sure how to begin."
Suspicion crept into her bones. Why was he so overwhelmed? Surely Arthur did not anything too drastic at his coronation? What more could have happened, she thought cynically and bitterly, than the whole of Camelot seeing her crown upon the head of her brawny, intolerable prat of a half-brother?
"Come now," Morgana said disbelievingly, smirking all the while, "I can predict that my brother has been received well by the people." She began to walk a slow circle around him, her black dress trailing behind her. "But I cannot predict what it was that drove you to ride so hard. I think I would like to hear that first."
"He—he…I found him," Llwyd blurted. He looked dazed, as though he could still hardly believe it himself. "Emrys."
Morgana froze her circling, and suddenly lunged for the man's throat. She drove him backward and pinned him to the wall. He gasped hoarsely and wiggled against her grasp underneath his jaw in vain. Seeing that he was becoming extremely pale, she relented to loosen her grip.
Morgana! Morgause scolded in her mind.
"I want you to consider your next words very carefully," she whispered into his ear, ignoring Morgause. "If there is any doubt in your mind, any doubt at all, if this is a false lead…"
"N—No," he struggled to say. Morgana released some more pressure for him to speak. "No," he said again confidently. "There is no doubt."
"Swear to me."
Llwyd did not falter and responded, "I do so swear. On my life."
Morgana searched the guileless, youthful face for any sign of deceit, but she found nothing but firm determination and that same wide-eyed look of awe.
Finally, she lowered her flawless hand, and her heart pounded with excitement. "Well, where is he?"
"Camelot," Llwyd breathed.
"Camelot?" Morgana repeated in amused disbelief, irritation flickering in her eyes. "Surely not?" she scoffed. "Why would he be there of all places?"
"He—He was there, m'lady. He stood at the King—" Seeing the horrible snarl on Morgana's face, he quickly corrected himself—"Arthur Pendragon's side."
A smirk lit her face. So Emrys was working on the inside? She had been doing much of the same, not so long ago. Clever.
Suddenly, a thought struck her: after all her years living in the castle as Uther Pendragon's ward, she had never once heard of this Emrys. How could he have so quickly—in the time that she was forced to flee Camelot—gained Arthur's trust? Did he enchant him? Why was he waiting? Why didn't he have the crown as they spoke?
How is this possible? Morgause asked, voicing Morgana's very thoughts.
"The Pendragon proclaimed…that he—my Lady," his voice suddenly changed, and his eyes became teary. "The Pendragon lifted the ban on magic."
The jug of water next to Morgause's bed suddenly exploded; shards of pottery and water flew in all directions, clattering and splashing cacophonously as the mess hit the cold floor. Llwyd jumped violently and yelped.
Morgana pulled back at her magic, struggling to keep it from lashing out once again. Part of her was enraged, another confused, and even another filled with amazement and shock. "He did not," she whispered in denial. "After all the lies he's been fed, after all the brainwashing his father had forced on him...Arthur Pendragon, the son of Uther, would never do such a thing."
"Apparently, he would," Llwyd said, regaining boldness after his little fright at the exploding jug. "He learned from his dying father that he was born of magic and that his birth and Igraine's death were the two linked occurrences that began the Purge."
This is true, Morgause said, A life for a life. That is the balance. I once tried to show the young Prince the truth, but that meddling servant got in the way.
Morgana flinched and hissed at the mention of Arthur's manservant, but she was even angrier at the thought of Uther using magic. "That damn bastardly hypocrite," she swore under her breath.
The people reacted well to this knowledge?
"They were shocked, but they soon recovered."
"Typical," muttered a confused Morgana. "And this alone was why he lifted the ban?"
Llwyd shook his head. "No. That was the least of reasons why he chose to lift the ban."
"The least?" Morgana screeched shrilly, feeling a little dizzy on her feet.
"There were more noble notions of peace and prosperity and how the land and people would benefit," Llwyd said, waving his hand dismissively. "But then, he began to speak of a man who had hidden both in the shadows and in plain sight. He spoke of how this man changed his mentality towards magic through friendship and loyalty….He said that this man had saved his life and Camelot time and time again with magic. He even—had—erm—" he suddenly looked very uncomfortable under their eyes "—injured the Lady Morgause," he finished warily. "And destroyed the immortal army of Queen Morgana's reign, spilling the blood from the Cup of Life. He has been named Camelot's Court Sorcerer."
Morgana stiffened, nostrils flaring like a vengeful dragon's. Her head was whirling, first with shock at the news, and then with brutal fantasies of the pleasure she would have in torturing this man.
The only enemies in that room that fateful day had been a wounded Knight, that wretched servant, and Gaius. Gaius had been a sorcerer long, long ago, so the two reluctantly but rationally had to agree that it had been Gaius himself who felled Morgause…but Gaius was old and so much out of practice. His magic would have been weak. But who else was there? No one…except now there was someone.
Now, she had someone new to blame. One who foiled it all, one who may not have a face or a name yet, but one she was going to make sure suffered.
"Who was this man?" she snarled. "And where does Emrys stand?"
Llwyd looked at her strangely, and suddenly she felt as though she were missing something very obvious…something right under her very nose….
And then Llwyd said the name, and everything changed. "Emrys. The man is Merlin Emrys."
Time froze, and Morgana stared at the youth, her mind rushing with memories of an awkward, large-eared, lanky, insolent servant. Merlin. Merlin, who became Arthur's manservant by pushing him from the path of a witch's dagger; Merlin, who joined her and Arthur to destroy the Afanc, who confessed to sorcery when Gwen had been imprisoned, who acted so strangely when she told him she knew his "secret"; Merlin, who once drank poison for Arthur; Merlin, who had helped the young Druid boy; Merlin, who started the fire in Ealdor during the battle with surprising ease and who was childhood friends with a "sorcerer"; Merlin, who knew about her magic before anyone else, who struggled to tell her that he knew that it really was magic when Gaius refused to admit it, who told her he did understand what he was going through, who found her a way to the Druids; Merlin, who once told her that if he had her gifts, he would use them for good; Merlin, who always had a more lenient and understanding view of magic than anyone she had ever known in Camelot, no matter how he tried to hide it; Merlin, who rode out with Arthur and continuously risked his life for the Prince; Merlin, who never left Arthur's side; Merlin, who poisoned her; Merlin, who was the first to suspect that she had changed; Merlin, who was always one damn step ahead of her; Merlin, who always got in the way; Merlin, who was a thorn in her side….The skeleton army, the Castle Fyrien, the old man….
The memories, both fond and bitter, flashed through her eyes, and suddenly, it all clicked, as it would in the mechanics of a complex lock, and it all fit together, as it would a child's puzzle.
It shouldn't have fit; it shouldn't have clicked. The servant was a bumbling fool, an idiot, and a clumsy oaf….now, King's advisor and Court Sorcerer! She would never have believed it, and she never would have believed Merlin to be the most powerful sorcerer in history. She would have laughed until she cried. She wished that she could still.
He had once been her friend. He once charmed her with his awkward behaviors and his quirky oddities, and his smile had once been enough to brighten her mood. He had once impressed her by his loyalty, his bravery, his intelligence, his resourcefulness, his wit, and his humor.
He was always there, right at Arthur's side as he fought magical threats. He stood for Camelot, never straying, never swaying. Hidden in the shadows and in plain sight. She now understood why "Emrys" was so elusive, so mysterious. It was not his true name, and he was the only one of their kind doing what he did: protecting and defending Arthur.
And she knew enough about Merlin to know that that would never change.
She screamed and lashed out with her hand. A green jet of light struck an unfortunate Llwyd across the chest, cutting as deeply as any sword. Crying out in pain, the youth had only moments to instinctively touch the blood that sprayed from the fatal wound and lift his trembling, blood-soaked hand to his shocked face before another spear of green sailed through his stomach…and out his back, pulling organs, flesh, and tissues with it. The boy fell into the pool of his own gore, blue horrified eyes still open.
"On your life, then," she spat, turning away from the mutilated body.
Hatred for the young man she once called friend, hatred for the one who had been prophesized to be her doom, rose and raged hungrily through her heart like the flames of a pyre, and it coursed through her blood just as true as the hemlock that he poisoned her with.
It had been him; it had always been him.
With a grimace of intense loathing contorting her beautiful face, Morgana pounded her fist into the table. A promise was made, then and there, that she was going to destroy everything and everyone Merlin cared about before finally killing him herself.
Growling, Morgana sealed her promise and therefore sealed her fate with a single accursed name: her greatest threat, her most lethal enemy, her doom.
"Merlin Emrys."
AN: Interesting experience that was. :P Thank you for reading so very much and for you continued support.
I have also decided, for those into my Prophesized series, that at this point, after having seen "The Sword in the Stone Part I," I don't think I could write a multi-chapter sequel to PMMP in which Morgana returns for revenge. That episode is just so amazing and brilliant that it would destroy and conquer anything that I ever dreamed up, and quite honestly, there are a lot of fics about Morgana returning and such. If I can think of a solid, unique idea, I will most certainly write one, but, since I have none at the moment, I am going to say, for now at least, that I will not be adding any more to this series.
Once again, enjoy the finale (SPOILER ALERT: Dragoon again! Can you believe that? AND a Reveal to Agravaine? END ALERT), and have a very merry Christmas. :)
Hugs,
Oz
Edit 06/12: Silly me for assuming that I wouldn't come up with another idea. This one-shot could be seen as a prologue of sorts to Heart of Gold.