Ok, I haven't written a story for a while, so my writing skills are a little rusty.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this fic, but it should turn out to be a multichapter.

The setting is after season 4, so later chapters will include Aithusa and will probably make references to things that happened in some of the episodes.

Keep in mind that this is only a first draft, so I will probably upload a revised version sometime in the future.

Read on and enjoy!

It was a lazy day, the air torrid and heavy, forcing the people of Camelot inside simply but to breathe without the painful scorching of lungs. Never had a day this hot been seen for many a year, and were it not painful to even draw breath, there would have surely been rumors no short of ludicrous circulating the lower town. By unspoken consent, most of the people subjected themselves to a midafternoon's nap to sleep away the unnatural heat that had them all bewildered and apprehensive. It had only been a mere three months since the witch Morgana's latest quest for the throne, and any near magical occurrence had every person, young or old, on their toes for days after.

Which was a serious pain for Merlin. Seriously, it was hard enough trying to save the kingdom from all sorts of magical calamities with the pain of death over his head, but never before had the people been so suspicious of their own. One wrong glance and your own mother would send you spinning in front of the wagon, so to speak. And it wasn't as if the last few months had been easy to start with. Not only were all the servants ordered to clean up after Morgana's mess, but King Prat was being even more of a prat than usual! If that were possible, that is.

But alas, there was nothing poor Merlin could do but continue to continuously save the kingdom from all sorts of magical attacks, avoid the chopping block, do all his regular chores, and clean Gaius's leech tank! It really was tragic, actually. The poor boy never even had a second to rest his legs.

And today was no different…

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted into the armory, causing Merlin to nearly drop the piece of armor he was currently polishing.

"Yes, sire?" He replied, devoid of his usual banter. Even Merlin was down today. Arthur shot him a glare. What? For being polite? Prat, thought Merlin. He was already sweating all over from his chores this morning and hadn't even had a moment's break since he woke up before dawn to work on the city's repairs.

All of a sudden, Merlin felt a strange tug on his magic, causing him to frown slightly. Then, without any warning, a huge pulse of energy pulsed over him, rendering him momentarily paralyzed. This time he did drop the armor. Needless to say, Arthur was not happy.

"MERLIN!" The man had obviously not noticed the pulse, but that was ok. Actually, it was great. Everything was great. Merlin not a care in the world jumped up with his trademark grin on his face and bowed down low, nose almost touching the floor.

"At your service, sire. How may I be of assistance to you on this fine day?" He almost shouted with vigor. He didn't even have to look up to know that Arthur had raised his eyebrow in a stunningly good impression of his mentor.

"Cut the sarcasm, Merlin, I'm not in the mood." This made Merlin frown, if only for a second. He wasn't being sarcastic. So he told Arthur so. "Whatever you say, Merlin, whatever you say." But truth be told, Arthur wasn't even feeling half as grumpy as he had a minute ago. Both men found it mildly suspicious, but neither chose to comment on it.

With a cheerful grin, Arthur ushered Merlin out the door and down the hallway in front of him. Neither noticed the very confused gazes of the hallway's other occupants, who couldn't help but wonder why the king and his manservant were bouncing down the hallway like loons on such a day when everyone else felt like Death himself.

But the word on the tip of everyone's tongue, though each was afraid to say it was: Magic.

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The battle field was soiled with the bodies of the dead. Pendragon red was stained black with the filthy blood of the fallen until everything was covered in a thick layer of darkness. The midnight black capes of the enemy were indistinguishable from any other body. Finally, both sides, united in death, could not be told apart.

One man stood alone on the field, a lone survivor of the surrounding carnage. His face was a mask of stone, but his eyes blazed golden with the pain and wrath of a thousand avenging angels. Gray ash floated down from the fire-burnt sky like a morbid snowfall, and it seemed to instill a certain twisted peace in her soul. But the fire in her heart could not be quenched by the tears of her spirit, and each breath burned like the air came straight from the breath of Hell. Perhaps it did.

The man stood above her now, but where his back had stood straight and tall with defiance, he was now hunched over and leaning heavily on his staff like he held the weight of destiny on his shoulders. Where his eyes had once blazed golden with fury, now flashed only the deepest blue of a man who has just seen every single one of his friends slaughtered. It was the look of a man who had lost everything. And a man who had nothing to lose.

But where his fire had been diminished, hers only grew to devour her until it had her screaming for release. Looking up at the man, the witch at last spoke words of true sorrow.

"Help me, Emrys. Please…" She knew the voice was her own, but it was filled with such pain as she had not shown in years. Such despair, pain, defeat. And most surprisingly of all, her voice was so layered with remorse that it rivaled that of a fallen angel, begging for the Lord to repent his sins. For she was an angel, fallen from her pedestal that had once sat among the greatest men in all of Albion. And the man leaning over her, the man she was silently begging for forgiveness, was Lord of all men. And no matter how much the angel repented his sins, he was cast away forever, wings torn from his body, never again to fly.

And the angel saw pity in her Lord's eyes. Pity, and a fury that burned brighter than the very sun that sustained life upon the pitiful and insignificant life of every living creature. And yet, it could be asked, does the Lord give life so that he may take it away? In His eyes she saw fury directed at the fallen angel that dared defy him, that dared challenge his power. The angel that betrayed his trust. For she was this fallen angel. Who was she to defy this mortal diety towering above her broken form?

And she saw the eyes of her Lord descend into the dark void. The then that there was no victor this day. That this pointless war had been lost to both sides. Today there were no heroes, for this was Judgment Day, the day that every man may be tested for his worth. No, no one had come out of this battle unscathed. And perhaps, it was the one who survived, who had truly been the only one to die. Because, though her body, and the body of every man lying dead or dying on this field, was broken beyond repair, the spirit of the man before her was utterly shattered. And that is truly a fate worse than death.

Once again, she saw him not as a god, but as a man that carried a burden that no man should have to carry. But it was his burden to bear alone, and the crushing weight of destiny only served to make him stronger. And as his eyes met hers, it was not his eyes that held the pity. Eyes full of unshed tears, the man spoke words that split the windblown plane like thunder.

"Is this really what you wanted, Morgana?" And then all of a sudden she was aware. It was just a dream, now she would wake up, just like every other time. She would wake up now and everything would continue as it had. But that didn't happen.

To her own disgust, Morgana Pendragon began to panic. She tried to move her arms, her legs, but to no avail. As if trapped in a cold, form-fitting prison of stone, she could not move a muscle. She was trapped, so completely and utterly helpless, that it was all she could do to gather breath to scream. But no matter how loudly she screamed, no matter how much she thrashed around inside her dream-body, not a sound escaped her airtight shell.

The man looked so sad, that his grief cut through her panic like Excalibur, herself, forged in the fiery breath of the Great Dragon. That dragon lay fallen now. The tears on his cheeks immediately ceased her silent screams of terror.

"I loved you, Morgana." His voice cracked on that word. Love. The tears were falling freely now, and she wasn't even surprised to feel and answering wetness on her cheeks. It was as if she was looking upon herself and this mysterious man from a distance, detached from the world. But despite her detachment, Morgana felt her dream-body gather with all her strength one last breath.

She knew this was it. This moment, right now, was truly the end. There would be no epilogue, no happy ending. This was always how destiny had fated it to end. With fire, blood, and tears.

So, with the very last bit of her strength, the witch opened her mouth to the warlock and forced the words past her ice-cold blood-red lips. The beautiful horrible color of fresh spilt blood that contrasted so much with the pale pallor of her porcelain white skin.

"I'm so sorry… Merlin…"

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She woke with his name on her lips. Blood red. For a second, she just sat there, staring at the ring on the stony ground next to her sleeping roll in shock. Merlin? Could it be? She stared at the ring for seconds minutes hours.

Emrys. It truly was a beautiful piece.

Merlin. A twisting gold ban engraved with winding ivy.

Emrys. Small engraved emeralds for the leaves.

Merlin. They were the exact same color of her eyes.

Emrys. But maybe green wasn't the only color that was significant.

Merlin. Gold.

Emrys. His eyes blazed golden with the pain and wrath of a thousand avenging angels…

Merlin.

She remembered, one year, before all of this chaos, how Merlin had gifted her with the small but beautiful ring. He told her that her eyes were as deep as the deepest sea, and as green as the greenest emerald. At the time, she had wondered where he could possibly have found the money to pay for something so expensive, but didn't dwell on it for long. Now, she had no doubt that it was not money, but rather certain… skills… that had produced such a thing of beauty. She had worn it every day. And then things changed.

She remembered everything about the day he poisoned her. She had carried that final memory of her face with him for years. Because that was, truly, the last time his eyes had ever filled with love for her. The second she woke up in the middle of some secluded field and remembered what he had done, the pain that he had caused, she ripped the ring from her finger and swore never again to wear it on her finger, but on her neck, where she would forever be reminded for the pain and the hatred that he had birthed in her that day. She wore it around her neck so that she may be forever reminded of the monster that he had made her. And she would never, ever wear it around her finger again. Because that ring was a symbol of betrayed love. Of love that she would never feel again.

Because it was on that very day that she vowed to kill the only man she had ever loved.

She vowed to kill Merlin.

Morgana slipped the ring on her finger.

And then she felt the pulse.

Ok I'm not really sure where I'm going with this story…

It started out as something that I had had planned for a while, but then just completely morphed into something entirely different. I'm hoping that this will turn out to be a multichapter fic, but no promises since I haven't exactly got everything planned.

As always please review! Cause honestly, I need some serious guidance here.

Ideas and suggestions are always welcome, as are questions.

Please let me know if anything is unclear so I can make any necessary revisions.

Also, please keep in mind that this is only chapter one, so all with be explained in later chapters (hopefully).

Thanks for reading!