Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. What a surprise.

Title: What Could Have Been

Chapter: Prologue

Word Count For Chapter: 1,578

Author: Crisiscase

Summary: One false word, one angry outburst, one mistake and now she knows, now she knows he has magic… What could have been had Merlin confessed when he confronted Morgana in the Camelot crypts…

BETAs: Mnemosyne77 and brickroad16, who have been my heroines, and have saved me from so many mistakes so thanks for all your hard work you two. Oh, and they're amazing authors so go read some of their fics. Now.

A/N: Okay, this is just the prologue so don't judge until first chapter comes out. The first chapter is already written and will be added in about a week or two. I would love to hear your thoughts. As a final note, thank you to all the people who left such great reviews on my oneshot, you all made my day(s).


It was many long years ago when the three first met. A time when sorcerers walked freely, when magic was revered not reviled, loved not loathed, a time where Kings accepted those who could wield these unimaginable powers.

The three were the most powerful sorcerers of their age, or indeed of any age before. Their powers seemed to have no limits, no rivals unless it was that of another of the three. It was said that they were able to move a mountain if they combined their might. But alas, where companionship exists so does rivalry and from this, from the green fires of envy sprang the chill black of resentment and hate.

They first met during a time of great upheaval; a deadly pestilence swept the land, claiming lives with an unstoppable fury. Confusion swamped the peoples of Albion, lords, barons and kings secluded themselves and their families in the security of their castles, manor houses and other such strongholds. But for the common peoples, those less fortunate, there was no escape. The disease spread across the land, ravaging the peoples, killing indiscriminately. Panic and fear brewed deep within the heart, terror turning previously kind men into cruel husks of their former selves.

It was from this all-consuming, mind-shattering, terror and milling confusion that the three emerged, like guardian angels sent from the heavens; defenders of humanity. Their names were Alira, Vlinor and Gliral.

They themselves were immune to the disease: their powers so great that the infection could be purged from their systems. From the ashes of a dying civilisation they came, clutching a glowing crystal in the hand of Alira. They stood atop a steep sided hill, rain beating down on their faces, and they began to chant, a complex, smooth language flowing from their tongues like water. It was then that they each placed one hand on the glowing crystal, Alira raising it into the middle of the circle of bodies they had formed. The crystal glowed, three sets of eyes burning liquid golden fire, power seemed to flow from their being and then the crystal burned black, blacker than the darkest of nights, and then… then there was peace. Almighty, soul calming peace, and the people rejoiced.

Sorcerers came to them, bowing their heads in reverence, bending their pride into worship. Worship of their saviours. That is how the Old Religion began, the worship of the greatest sorcerers this world has ever seen. But this worship, this reverence didn't sit well with Alira and Vlinor who simply wished to retreat into the shadows, to care for the family they wished to raise together. But Gliral, the greatest of the three, wanted the opposite.

For some, power is an uncomfortable sore, a welt across their consciousness but for some... for some it is the ultimate desire, the highest ambition and Gliral was one such man. As his heart grew ever darker, followers flocked to him, drawn by his power and by his silver tongue which could charm many a soul.

And Vlinor and Alira vanished into the shadows, taking the crystal that carried that deadly disease with them.

It was as if a storm had broke, a furious tempest that lashed across the land, roiling fury that struck the world. Gliral had swept across the south of Albion, sorcerers fighting with him, an army of the dead covering his western flank. No-one could stop him, for who can stop the unstoppable? With a vengeance, with an ambition, rarely seen in this life Gliral crushed half of Albion beneath his might, raiding villages, taking women and casting his shadow across the populace.

It was then… then as their onetime friend savoured his successes, that Vlinor and Alira came. Once again standing to defend the world that had been so blessed to have them in it, like a phoenix rising from the ashes they came, a burning symbol of hope and power. And the people came, the sorcerers who had been brave enough to resist Gliral, the people who wished to protect their homes. An army of man ready and willing to do the bidding of their saviours.

And so, it was on a night where lighting lanced through the sky, when thunder rumbled ominously above that they confronted each other once more. Friends turned enemies. And as Vlinor and Alira gazed at Gliral immeasurable sadness passed between them for what could have been. For, now it was inevitable, at least one of them would die that night. And it was with this thought that Alira and Vlinor attacked, their powers united.

But Gliral was not the greatest of the three for no reason, with a simple wave of his hand, eyes glowing golden, shadows rose from the earth, absorbing the strike of compressed air that the two had sent at him. Without a flicker of movement Gliral caused the shadows to wrap into a thick snake. With a slight twist of his hand the snake lunged forwards crossing the distance between Gliral and his adversaries in seconds.

A blast of power tore through the shadow. Gliral shielded himself with a barrier of earth.

And so their battle continued, power emanating from the three in such copious amounts that the air itself seemed to shimmer. The battle shook the land, each strike like a thunderstorm and the true lightning forked across the pitch coloured sky.

It was as they began to tire that Vlinor and Alira realised they could not defeat Gliral, not in their current state, their powers were waning and his were not. They had to fall back on their last resort, the one move Gliral would never expect. They drew near and then, summoning all their power they sealed him within a prison, similar in execution as their imprisoning of the disease, they divided Gliral from his very own magic, sealing the power into a crystal that only he could break in order to release his power. Opening themselves up to the very flow of magic they bound him in a prison of their very magic, sealed in an endless slumber, trapped by their power, power which they had sacrificed their lives to summon up. And with that two of the three left this life, the third bound in an endless slumber from which he could not escape, his magic sealed in a crystal which could never be used by any but him, and below their armies still clashed.

Without Gliral, the sorcerers he had enlisted fell apart, and with them so did his army, Vlinor and Alira's warriors seizing the moment and routing their opposition.

When silence reigned once more,the army of Vlinor and Alira climbed the hill on which the three had fought, and on that site they built a great castle, an impenetrable fortress, a fort to protect the world from the evil that had destroyed their time. They resolved to worship the three, the three who had shown them the way through life, regardless of their end, and this worship of magic governed the land for many years. The religion was never aware of the family Vlinor and Alira had left behind, never knowing of the bastard child Gliral had fathered mere days before.

But now… now… I do, and I know that now the last two descendants of these great three wander the earth destined to be the greatest of lovers or the greatest of enemies.

Not that they know of this. Of course, how could they know? It would not suit my purpose to tell them… It could ruin everything I have planned for. So I leave them in ignorance, unknowing of that part of their destinies, and they continue to hate, as destiny weaves a web from which they cannot escape. So… Do they become the greatest of lovers or the greatest of enemies? That is their choice.

Unfortunately for them, I've already set them on the latter path.


A/N: So? Any opinions? All reviews and comments appreciated.