Author's Notes: Inspired by the spoilers for 08, and by the WH Auden poem As I Walked Out One Evening, which is quoted within the text.
O look, look in the mirror?
O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.
xxx
The third time she has the vision while conscious, Morgana is struck by the smell of roses.
She is sitting in front of the mirror; Gwen is brushing her hair, carefully unravelling each sleek curl from the other. Morgana is talking in a light voice about the feast she attended earlier that evening. "Of course he was being as much of an idiot as usual," she says, and Gwen rolls her eyes as if to say Men. "He doesn't even seem to realise that I – "
Her breath catches in her throat. Her voice dies.
The mirror is rippling in front of her, spreading out like a great silver hand. Her pupils dilate. Her breathing slows, growing deep and quiet in a mimicry of sleep. Distantly she feels Gwen's hands shaking her shoulders and hears Gwen's voice shouting her name, but right now these mortal things cannot concern her. There is a world of terrible beauty rising to meet her. She sees Uther's face through a veil of grey smoke; Arthur's hands clasped around a sword dripping red; a hundred blind futures turning towards the light in her own eyes. The smell of roses is overpowering. In a daze she feels petals shower over her face like small kisses. Gentle.
Abruptly the trance breaks. She is limp, trembling, leaning back in Gwen's arms with a cold weight of fear lying leaden in her stomach. Gwen is shaking too. Morgana can hardly imagine how frightening she must look when the visions take her. She apologises to Gwen in the only way she knows how – by faking wellness. She straightens up, swallowing back a small plea and says in the calmest voice she can manage, "Gwen? I need a favour."
"What do you need?" Gwen asks. In the mirror her eyes meet Morgana's. Morgana can see the concern in them. Her chest tightens with anguish. This has to end.
"I need you to get Merlin again. Tonight."
xxx
Once Merlin tried to teach her a spell to banish bad dreams.
"I know your dreams aren't the same as normal ones, but it's worth a try," he said, dumping the big book onto the table with a resounding thump. He looked at her for approval and she gave him a faint smile. She didn't have much hope.
Gaius was out taking care of a bed-ridden patient, so they had the physician's quarters to themselves. Morgana had seated herself on a stool by the table, leaning forward with her elbows resting against its surface. Merlin was still standing. He started rifling through the book, stopping when he came across the spell he'd been talking about. "This one!" he said, pointing down at the page triumphantly. "Nihtslǽp liss."
He'd merely been reciting the name, but Morgana could still feel his magic. It shimmered in the air, bright and threaded with gold. Recently her Sight had been growing more sensitive to everything. It made her nights extremely difficult, but on the positive side she was a marvel at predicting the weather.
"Shall I just recite the words?" she asked, touching one slim finger to the worn parchment. Their hands were very close. She saw Merlin raise his head to give her a brief, shy grin before he looked down again. He didn't try to touch her.
"You need to try and push your power behind it. Sort of…" He trailed off. Shrugged. "You have to feel it," he explained – which wasn't much of an explanation at all. Morgana hoped the look she gave him right then made him aware of that fact. But where other men may have quailed before her displeasure Merlin just grinned again as if to say, What do you expect?
That night she recited the words. She recited them until her mouth grew dry and her throat ached. She recited them until her head became too heavy for her to hold up and her chambers were growing light with the glow of dawn. Then she felt their power settle over her and she slept, and dreamt the same dreams as always: of two figures in the dark, of a kingdom of blood and a kingdom of beauty lying together like shards of the same whole and of other things, great things that her small, mortal mind could not yet comprehend.
"Well?" he asked her the next day, bright-eyed with excitement.
"It didn't work," she said briefly, noting the disappointment in his expression with a pang of unexpected affection. "But thank you."
"I'll try again," he told her. "I will."
She believed him.
xxx
"I can see things even when I'm awake," she says. Her voice is strained. In the light from the candle her skin has a translucent quality. The shadows under her eyes are pronounced, hollowed out like bruises. Her hands keep twisting together in her lap: a sure sign that she's near breaking point. Morgana usually cultivates stillness like it's an art form. "If I don't find a way to stop them soon, I'm going to go mad."
They never refer to her visions by name. It's one of many small ways they try to deny the danger they're both in. They skirt around the issue of Merlin's magic and the bigger problem of Uther's paranoia hanging like an axe over both of their heads with carefully phrased words and meaningful pauses. They even skirt around the fact that he – a lowly servant – is sitting in her room in the middle of the night, with only Gwen to watch at the door.
Every second in Morgana's company puts Merlin's life at risk. Even Arthur would find it difficult to talk Merlin's way out of this situation if Merlin were caught. But it's okay. He's starting to think of putting his neck on the line as a sort of hobby. He seems to be doing it for everyone these days.
"You need to talk to Gaius." He knows it isn't the answer she wants, but it's the only one he can think of. Only Gaius seems to have any answers about seers. All Merlin can do for her is search through his book of magic and hope for the best. "He'll know what to do."
Morgana smiles bitterly. "He'll give me another sleeping draught, I suppose."
"It might help?"
"When I'm awake?"
"Oh. Yes. Right." Merlin gives a self-depreciating laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners. "Maybe whatever you're seeing is so urgent that it can't wait till you sleep," he suggests. "If you tell me what it is maybe I can – "
"That isn't important," she says sharply, in a tone that is clearly intended to remind him of his place. Then, clearly feeling guilty, she adds, "I can't tell you, Merlin. I just can't."
There is a pause. Then he nods.
"Okay then," he says. "We'll think of something else."
"I hope so," Morgana replies, but her voice is bleak.
xxx
Once Morgana made Merlin make a promise he wasn't sure he could keep.
He, Gwen and Morgana were watching Arthur spar with his men. Merlin found sparring endlessly entertaining. It was nice to see someone else get battered and bruised for a change. He was, after all, still smarting from his many visits to the stocks (he wasn't sure he'd ever look at a potato in the same way again). Gwen was laughing at the sight of one particularly clumsy knight being kicked over in the mud by Arthur when Morgana turned to Merlin, her eyes fierce.
"Promise me you'll teach him not to be so proud." There was something desperate in her voice, quite at odds with the warm sunshine and the sight before them. "You'll have to make him see that even the weak matter."
Gwen placed one hand gently on her mistress's shoulder and Merlin realised with a pang that he wished he could be the one there comforting her. But that would never be possible. Never be acceptable.
"I'm just his servant," he murmured.
"You won't always be," said Morgana, and there was an echo of power in her voice. A knowing. "And someone will need to be there to remind him that he's just Arthur. Not what the world will make him be." Then she paused for breath, two spots of high colour on her cheeks, and before Merlin could speak she said, "I'm sorry. I'm being unfair." She looked away from him. "Try and enjoy the day."
Merlin didn't think to ask at the time why Morgana couldn't just take him down a few pegs herself in the future, just like she always had before. Later he'd regret not asking. But right then he simply looked at her and said, like the simple boy he was then: "I promise."
He saw some of the tension leave her shoulders, and it was enough.
xxx
"I should go," says Merlin. His gaze flickers towards the door. "Gaius is going to notice I'm gone, and Gwen needs to get home."
"Of course," says Morgana. She neatens the skirt of her nightdress with her hands, rising along with him. In his torn jacket and his red kerchief Merlin looks entirely out of place in her chambers. Only she knows how alike the two of them really are beneath it all. Even Gwen only understands parts: the shared magic, the shared secret. But beneath that there is something more, so much more. They are bound together as surely as Merlin and Arthur are bound together. When Merlin touches the world, she sees what he changes. He is the hand. She is the eye.
She walks with him towards the door. The distance between them, now that they are alone and don't have to worry about silly things like propriety, is miniscule. Her sleeve brushes his sleeve in an accident, an apology.
Then she smells the roses.
For one terrifying moment she thinks the vision is going to try and take her again. But no: it's just a scent on Merlin's skin, clinging to his clothes and the short strands of his hair.
"Why do you smell of flowers?" she asks quietly, her face tilted towards his.
"Oh, that?" He looks down at his hands, which as stained at the tips. "Sorry," he says sheepishly. "I was helping Gaius make some medicine with the stuff in it. I must have forgotten to wash my hands."
She nods. "Of course."
Inside her mind everything falls into place. For the first time she understands what her Sight and what Fate have been asking of her all along. Rather than raging against it she feels a sense of peace settle over her, brushing her heart like wings. The suffering she's dreamed of is now hers to stop. She doesn't have to be helpless any longer. And that's all she has ever wanted, isn't it? Her freedom from the control of others: from Uther, from her title, from the powers she just can't seem to control.
"Goodbye," Merlin says.
No, she thinks, watching him leave with a vague sorrow she can't quite place. Not quite yet.
xxx
Once, and only once, Morgana saw her vision in full, and not just in the dreamy, fragmented parts.
Once was enough.
She saw two different Camelots. One was a kingdom of glory and joy, built by honour and chivalry. She was Arthur as King, smiling with Guinevere – her own dear Gwen – standing by his side with flowers in her hair. She saw Lancelot, the finest of all Arthur's knights, flushed with accomplishment. She saw a sword raised to the sun, and Merlin standing in Arthur's shadow laughing with his hand pressed against Arthur's own. She saw paradise.
The other Camelot was a land built on spilt blood: the blood of Uther in the earth, the blood of sorcerers who had gone mad with grieving and been put down like rabid dogs for the acts that anguish led them to commit. She saw an Arthur who had never known anything but the coldness of his own proud heart, with a bride who loved another man but could never have him. She saw Merlin, worn down by sorrows, reaching out to touch Arthur but never quite reaching. She saw hell, and she saw that these two Camelots would one day be one and the same, happiness slowly sliding into tragedy.
She saw, and knew in her heart of hearts that it could be changed.
Now she knows the price she will have to pay to make that happen.
xxx
Morgana waits five minutes. She counts the seconds down in her head, her eyes closed and her face pressed against the cool stone of the wall. Gwen walks one way, Merlin the other. Their farewells filter in through a crack in the door.
After five minutes pass she opens the door and steps out, bare-footed, into the corridor. It is entirely empty. Torchlight glimmers on the floor and she feels terribly cold. But the cold doesn't matter. She traces the path of Merlin's feet with her own. Another vision hits her as she walks but she doesn't let it break her stride. Not this time. What the vision tells her seems entirely natural, just the progression of everything she already knows.
Fate is on her side, and she isn't going to fail it now.
Merlin has been walking slowly. She finds him standing at one of the windows along the corridor, staring up at the half-moon with his elbow on the edge and his chin propped up in one hand. He hears approaching even before he sees her, and gives a start when he turns and makes out her face in the dim light.
"Lady Morgana?" he says. He sounds unsure.
"I understand now," Morgana says calmly, her most recent vision flickering before her eyes, "what the dreams are warning me about. Uther is going to find out about my magic. And he isn't going to be pleased."
Merlin's eyes widen.
"Oh my – " but he catches himself before he blasphemes, biting down on his lip. "We'll do something, I promise," he says, all fervent loyalty and idealism and oh, this hurts. "I'll talk to Gaius. If we have to get you out before he does then we'll do it. There must be somewhere we can take you, or – "
"Merlin," Morgana says, interrupting him. She crosses the distance between them; takes his head between her hands. His skin is warmer than hers and he still smells like dreaming. "Shut up," she says.
Then she kisses him.
He's frozen, at first. She feels the stiffness of his lips; the tightness of the muscles in his jaw. She whispers against his mouth, a little plea that doesn't quite form into a real world and he shivers and parts his lips, lifting his hands to touch her hair with a reverence that half surprises, half saddens her.
She arches her body against his. This isn't something she's done before but she knows what her skin wants. The creases in his jacket press against her skin and she can feel the heat of his body seeping into hers. Their hips align and he gives a ragged breath that mingles with her own soundless cry. Their mouths part. He looks at her in a kind of wonderment, and she realises not for the first time how truly beautiful he is when he allows himself to be.
"We should – "
"No," she says. "Here. Now."
She uses no magic except, perhaps, the kind that comes naturally. They move to a shadowed alcove that the torchlight doesn't quite touch and make love like clumsily, tenderly. She entwines her hands with his own, guiding his hands to her breasts and her hips and the apex of her thighs until they're both gasping, muffling their cries against each other's mouths and shoulders. When he enters her she feels a stab of pain and then nothing but aching closeness, more intimacy than she's ever known in her whole life. He is so gentle. As if he's afraid of breaking her. And maybe she's afraid of breaking him too. She holds on.
"Thank you," he whispers, later, looking at her as if she's the beginning and the end of everything, light shining like fire in his eyes.
"Don't," she says. "Please." And kisses him gently on the cheek.
I'm sorry, she thinks, but doesn't say it.
Farewell.
xxx
A spell rises up from somewhere inside her as she walks, making the guards fall to the ground in a slumber and the gates open of their own accord. Outside, the cold air sweeps up around as if it knows her. It welcomes her home.
There is no one waiting for her outside Camelot. Tomorrow someone will let her secret slip to Uther and he will rage. But he won't find her. By then she'll be far beyond his reach. Visions beat like drums in her mind. She knows. She already sees how Arthur will fight and search for her and ultimately give up and grieve more than he has ever grieved in his life. She sees Merlin's numb shock. His silences. How his last moments with her will be a secret for years, years, years. A secret for both of them.
Something to hold onto in the dark.
She will go out into the world and fashion herself into an enemy for Arthur. When he grows too proud she will remind him what false pride can cost. When he turns away from the world he loves she will remind him why his kingdom is worthy of the sacrifices he has made for it. She will become the darkness to his light – if it will help stop him from facing the darkness within himself. It is a price that needs paying, and Morgana knows she is strong enough to pay it. That she is meant to pay it to keep Camelot whole
One day, she knows, Merlin will be one of the most precious things Arthur has left in the world. His father will die. Gwen and Lancelot will betray him. And then – perhaps even then – Merlin will not be enough. The weight of a kingdom would be enough to break any man. A vision of tragedy will come to pass.
Morgana touches her smooth abdomen lightly, working wordless magic through her own skin.
Any child of Merlin's, she knows, will someday be as precious to Arthur as one of his own. And maybe what she and Merlin have made tonight will be enough to save Camelot in the end. Maybe Arthur will look at her child and find some kind of future there; maybe he will be swayed from the wrong path by the ace in her deck, the almost-heir he will never have. She doesn't know. When she thinks of the child - their child – she thinks that it is enough that it was always meant to be, and that she will love it.
She thinks the price she has to pay may not be so great after all.
xxx
O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart.