There was a silence in snowfall, even when the ice winds whistled, tossing the delicate flakes about in the air. Snow was peace and tranquillity, and it hid the dead, frozen world beneath under a veneer of pure white, giving it a sheen of undisturbed perfection. The sight was a pristine lie, of course, purity added to a land that was anything but. Morgana liked that she stood out starkly against it, dressed in black and sitting astride her horse on the high ridge, a symbol of the scars that still bled unhealed beneath its facade. Too deep to heal now. Any beauty left in this world was nothing but a fragile shell and she felt sure it would crack soon. She'd be glad to see it.

Her horse shifted beneath her, sensing something on the breeze, but she calmed her with old words and the creature soon settled. The horse had some sense about her and didn't like being so exposed here, where anyone could see them. Most, in fact, would call this careless but Morgana wasn't trying to keep herself hidden. Those down below had bigger things to occupy their attention and were unlikely to look her way.

She couldn't hear the sounds of the battle, no impact of swords or snarl of beast. The silence of the snow had drowned it out, giving her a detachment from proceedings that suited her. She was here to watch and didn't want to think. Her mind had already drifted too dangerously of late.

Not that there was much of a battle left to witness. The remaining amphisbaena were greatly outnumbered by the knights now, the heads at both ends of the beast-like serpents snapping fiercely but ultimately in vain; Arthur was a seasoned tactician and would soon win again.

A shiver of emotion passed through Morgana, eyes fixed upon Camelot's king - her brother - almost to the exclusion of others. Part of her reaction was revulsion, considering him the ultimate symbol of the poisoned kingdom that'd wronged her and her kind so grievously. Everything done to the people of magic had been to secure his throne and his future, and it galled her deeply to know that he'd got his reward on the back of such suffering. There was another feeling there too though as she watched him; a discomfort that'd sat in her stomach ever since she'd first confronted him in the throne room so many months ago. They'd loved each other once, as family, even before they knew that they were. And whilst it'd been easy to hate his shadow or his memory, it'd proved harder when she'd had him right in front of her and she'd seen her own sudden pain at what they'd come to reflected in his eyes. Neither of them had really wanted this but there they were.

And here they were now, still on that path that seemed destined to lead to destruction. Sometimes she wondered if this had always been inevitable. Sometimes she wished there was another way.

Next to her, sitting on his own horse, Mordred tore his intense gaze away from the action below to look at her. He always looked at people directly, apparently having no qualms about peering right into a person, nor any fear about what he might see. It was so bold it was almost unnatural.

His face was as measured as always, a calm mask with just a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

"Morgana," he said steadily, a voice that was still light and melodious, enchanting even, despite his growing years, "we should go before they spot us."

She looked up at the boy - not that he was truly a boy now, more a young man starting to come into his prime - and forced a nod, breaking through her preoccupation.

"Yes. Of course."

They turned their horses and moved down the ridge, out of sight of the people below.

The amphisbaena had been Mordred's idea; he'd summoned them to attack the outlying village, knowing that reports of it would reach Camelot and draw Arthur out. Unlike his father, Arthur was not good at sitting in his throne room and giving out orders, preferring to tackle a problem himself. He was a man of action and Mordred said he wanted to see what Arthur would do.

Morgana wasn't sure that she saw the complete sense in the plan - believing that it was toying with her brother rather than making strides to remove him from his throne or punish him for harming their kind - but Mordred had a way of persuading her. He always had, even when his words seemed to fly in the face of her own reason or judgement. Every one of them speaking to her, like they came right from her own heart.

Silence only remained between them long enough for them to negotiate the steep ridge and then Mordred turned to her again, giving her a look that bordered on gentle scolding. Like you might give a favourite pupil who you knew had contemplated something unwise.

"He's our enemy," he reminded her pointedly. "Arthur Pendragon has no love for any of our kind; he'd see us both on a pyre or at the block if he caught us. Like he did my father."

"I know," Morgana replied in an instant, a sharp snap to her voice. She was more annoyed with herself though, embarrassed for thinking, even for a moment, that it could be otherwise. Of course Arthur was their enemy; he hated her and she'd be a fool to think any different. If she allowed herself to be swayed by any remnants of gentle emotions, he'd take advantage of that and it would be her undoing.

Mordred was right, and, in all honesty she couldn't remember why she'd briefly felt otherwise.

The young man gave her a faintly curious look in light of her angry tone, silently asking for a reason.

"Merlin," she spat in retort, a false explanation but the twisted venom in her voice true enough, more potent than all the amphisbaena heads combined. "I saw him there, playing his master's loyal, imbecile lap dog whilst skulking in the shadows."

She wouldn't give him the dignity of the name 'Emrys', her blood all but boiling at the idea still. When Mordred had first told her, had revealed that Merlin, Arthur's pesky but persistently lucky servant was the great sorcerer whom she'd been told to fear…. Well, Morgana's rage had been uncontrollable. People in villages miles away had heard her screams and the forest she and the young sorcerer had been living in had burnt to cinders around her. The people said a vengeful spirit had been released and they'd hid in their homes for nights on end, hoping it would pass them safely by.

Mordred hadn't tried to calm her, simply waiting patiently whilst she exhausted her anger, listening to her rant about how Merlin had lied to her, how he knew she'd been afraid of her magic and had done so little to help her. How he'd tried to kill her, whilst keeping Camelot's corrupt and murderous rulers alive. He was traitor of the worst kind and deserved every punishment possible for his crimes. She would visit them upon him.

In contrast, Mordred's feelings towards Merlin were entirely guarded. It was like he had none at all.

"I'm glad Emrys came," he said calmly. He never called Merlin by any other name. "It was a test for him as much as Arthur Pendragon."

It was Morgana's turn to look curious now. She hadn't been savvy to any such plan.

"Even in grave peril, he doesn't consider revealing his powers," Mordred reasoned. "He could have dealt with the amphisbaena within moments if he chose, but instead he decided to let others risks their lives rather than reveal who he is. It's interesting."

Morgana thought it was more like self-interest.

"He just knows that Arthur would at best banish him and at worse have his head if he found out," she reasoned caustically. "Magic is still punishable by death in Camelot and Arthur always was very good at upholding his father's laws."

Laws he'd made no effort to rescind in his nearly two years on the throne, despite the few times in the dim past that he'd gone against them. Maybe he was a better man than Uther - or could have been - but not by much. Not when it mattered most.

"Whatever the reason," Mordred said, "taking Camelot will be difficult whilst Emrys is still there."

Morgana shook her head.

"But not impossible. I've seen what you can do, you're a match for him." There was an odd pride in her words, like how a mother would talk to her son even though the age gap between them wasn't great enough for that. "Together, we could defeat him."

She sounded keen. Morgana wasn't a patient woman and this lack of progress was frustrating to her.

Mordred smiled at her, although there was coldness behind the warm expression. There always was.

"There are more effective ways to deal with someone than simple defeat."

Merlin was in a surprisingly cheerful mood for a man who'd spent the better part of the previous day fighting giant serpents. Particularly considering that this had been followed by an evening scrubbing the innards of said serpents from Arthur's tunic whilst the young king enjoyed the festivities the village put on in his honour. Even when Arthur had returned late, tossing another tunic at him and reminding Merlin that it wouldn't be right for him to address his subjects without something fresh and dry to wear come morning, Merlin had still grinned. It'd be a good day.

He'd had many of those lately and now that their journey home was almost at an end and they were within sight of Camelot once more, his smile grew even broader.

"You know," he said casually to Arthur as they rode down the sun-warmed hillside, "popular legend says that eating the meat of an amphisbaena can attract many lovers. I'm surprised you didn't have me bring some back…"

Arthur gave him a dry look.

"You know I wouldn't be interested in such a thing." He reached across and whacked Merlin on the shoulder, just hard enough to make him have to grab the reigns tighter. "But you can do with all the help you can get, so if you want to go back and fetch some, be my guest."

Behind them, Gwaine snorted a laugh and Merlin turned slightly in his saddle to look at him.

"Are you still here?" he joked. "Thought you'd be racing back to the village already…"

Gwaine waved that insult away as though it bounced right off him.

"I've never needed any help attracting the ladies."

"Really?" Merlin pressed, a false frown on his face. "Remind me again how much luck you had with Gwen…"

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"Have you been trying to woo your Queen, Sir Gwaine?"

"No," Gwaine scoffed lightly, making it quite clear he wasn't that daft. "I tried to woo her before she was Queen."

Merlin laughed, but his next comment was interrupted as the horns sounded ahead of them; Camelot had spotted its king and was welcoming him home.

The great city certainly seemed to share his current mood of optimism. It was starting to blossom in Merlin's opinion and not just because the last of the winter snows were finally clearing and spring was arriving. No, there was a greater sense of peace settling over the Camelot these days, an air of hope and an excitement for a better future. A new young king and kind, beautiful queen had seemed to refresh the people after long years of tension under Uther's reign. Not to mention the fact that they'd suffered no threats at all in nearly two seasons.

It'd been many months since Morgana had taken Camelot and the High Priestess - it felt so odd to think of her as that, considering the girl he'd once known - hadn't been seen since she'd disappeared, right out from under Merlin and Gwen's noses. Many thought that she was dead, having heard tales of the injury she'd sustained in the fighting and thinking that even a sorceress couldn't survive such a wound. Even if she had managed to use magic to escape the castle - and it seemed likely given that the place was searched extensively without sign of her - her allies were dead and she'd no one to give her aid. Her hut had been ransacked shortly after, Arthur having received an anonymous message about where she'd been hiding, and there was no indication that she'd been back. It'd caused most to agree that she'd escaped but had fallen deep in the woods somewhere, succumbing to her wound where she wouldn't be found.

Merlin felt an odd kind of sickness in his stomach at the idea - pity maybe - but he would be glad all the same to never see her again.

Arthur was a different matter. He'd actually sent patrols out looking for her and when Merlin had asked him whether that was to arrest her or to rescue her, the King had simply snapped at him and told him not to question. Arthur hadn't behaved like Uther once did - wasting precious lives and many months on a woman that was nowhere to be found - but it clearly disturbed him not to know what'd happened to her. And not simply because she was a dangerous enemy. He didn't say anything openly, but Merlin knew him well enough to see the troubled thoughts lurking behind his orders. Part of Merlin was proud of that, seeing it as a symbol of a great man with a capacity for forgiveness and love beyond what was deserved, and part of him feared that it would prove a weakness Arthur couldn't afford.

Merlin had tried to speak to Gwen about it once too, but she'd simply appeared upset and had asked him to change the subject.

Despite what Morgana might have believed, she was mourned by some in Camelot.

Still, her shadow couldn't hold sway on the kingdom forever and as the months had passed, things had brightened. Camelot's new queen was certainly a source of that and Gwen was waiting for them now in the courtyard, smiling warmly at all the returning men, even if her brightest ones were reserved for Arthur. He beamed too as he dismounted, forgetting being the king for a moment and just being the husband, embracing his wife and asking her how things had been.

Merlin was pleased for them. After everything that'd happened - Agravaine's meddling, Lancelot and Gwen's subsequent banishment, Mithian - he'd been worried that they'd never be what they once were to each other. He liked to think that the matter was entirely behind them now, that all was settled, but things were rarely that simple. He saw the tension still there at times, hurt feelings that'd never properly healed sometimes rawly prodded. Not to mention that Arthur still had a blundering ability to be an oaf with his words.

"Anything else I should know about?" the young king joked as he held his arm out for his wife, Merlin following a few paces behind as they all headed back into the castle. "Made any big changes whilst you've had the opportunity? Been busy spending the entire treasury in my absence?"

Gwen shook her head, amused at his teasing. "I tried, but you took the key…"

"Redecorating our chambers then?"

"They couldn't get the pink silk here for at least a month."

Arthur grinned too.

"Changed all the kitchen menus then? Swapped all my clothes for ones of your liking? Charmed all the knights into swearing fealty to you instead?"

Gwen had been laughing but she visibly tensed at that last one, even though she tried to hold her smile, a nerve clearly struck.

Arthur's face fell.

"Sorry," he mumbled awkwardly, realising his mistake. "I didn't think. I didn't mean that…"

He let out a sigh.

Arthur trusted Gwen but there seemed to be part of her that still didn't - couldn't now - completely have faith in that. Lancelot had changed things between them, leaving ugly scars hidden deep.

"Why don't we go and have dinner?" Gwen asked gently, smoothing things over, the diplomat as always. "You can tell me all about your trip."

Merlin spent the rest of the evening serving them - something Gwen still couldn't get used to, barely quashing her want to get up and help him tidy things away. He might have let her just to ease her own conscience, but some in the kingdom still muttered about their 'commoner queen' and it was important that she was seen to be doing things properly.

Even if it did remind Merlin so starkly of how things hadn't changed for him. How he was now more on his own than ever, surrounding by kings, queens and knights when he was just a servant to them. If he'd had a large ego, it would've been galling.

Still, he couldn't help but go to bed in a cheerful mood. There would always be obstacles, but the world seemed more bright and hopeful than it had in many years. Arthur was still wary of magic, true, but he showed promise and with no great threats hanging over them, Merlin could help him see that promise through. He just needed to have a little more time and patience. Then he could tell everyone who he really was.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face and it stayed there until his name was whispered to him in his dreams. Not softly or with affection, and certainly not with any seduction or desire. It was a harsh sound, demanding his attention, and it made him frown for the first time that day.

Several times - half waking, half sleeping, like in a fever - he rolled over as if trying to bat the voice away, but its persistence was absolute. It sometimes faded to little more than a breath, but always rose again, steady and without signs of stopping. It would not leave him be.

It was near dawn, the end of a troubled, restless night, when he finally came to realise that there was something uncomfortably familiar in the tone. It wasn't just 'a voice', it was a woman, a richness in her words because she was quite used to giving orders and having them obeyed.

Suddenly, as though the recognition of that gave her opening to force her way into his mind, he saw the outline of her face in the blackness behind his closed eyelids. Beautiful but shadowed, dark eyes burning into him, almost recognisable but just out of sight. There was a flicker of triumph in her gaze, as though she knew what he'd come to realise - that this was no mere dream. She'd made an impression that he wouldn't be able to ignore.

In the moments before his eyes opened, the shadows faded and he saw her clearly, smiling in triumph. The image was burned into his mind as he sat up exhaustedly in his bed.

Morgause.