A/N: I'm going to preface this by saying I have absolutely no idea how to write Morgana le Fay or who she is in terms of Harry Potter (yes, I know the Arthurian legend like the back of my hand—as a separate fandom, if you will, but not how it fits into JK Rowling's world). I've sort of had the characters from the television show, 'Merlin' (BBC I think?) in my head whilst writing this because I adore that show. However, I did try to make it as Harry Potter like as possible (such as giving Morgana green eyes, using wands, Arthur being related to Gryffindor (pre-Godric/Founders) and having Muggle enemies, etc), and I really hope you all like it. Plus, how could I deny my friend who has been hoping to see me write Morgana for ages? :p
I must warn you now, though, this is very high T, where the theme is very dark in some places to do with death—not too graphic or violent though. It is in the process of betaing, and because I can't for the life of me write in Medieval 'English', it will sound more modern.
This is dedicated for Dessie (desertredwolf) for her on-year anniversary mod-challenge on The Golden Snitch forum and for her friendship! :)
Prompts: (character) Grey!Morgan le Fay; (character) Dark!Merlin; (dialogue) "History is written by the victors." Word count: 1938.
History is Written by the Victors
Morgana's pace quickened as she strolled through the long, dank stone corridor. Screams echoed from the grounds below, but it was her curiosity that spurred her on, not fear. Carefully stepping over the body of a fallen soldier, not dain to look at his face to see if it was one of the castle's own, she headed for the only lit room in the wing. Light spilt from the crack of the door, as though beckoning enemy soldiers to step inside and find who was inside.
Morgana rolled her eyes and pushed on the wooden door, not in the least bit surprised by Merlin's dim-wittedness. Of course, he wouldn't care if soldiers came in, he was far too busy trying to play the hero as always.
"Come to gloat, I suppose?" he said when she stepped inside.
The dark-haired boy was bent over a low straw bed, examining the occupant's wounds. It almost irked her that he didn't need to turn around to know that it was her, that her moves were so predictable to him.
"That you are losing the war? That even your 'magic' hasn't been strong enough to stop the Muggle invasion? Please, I already knew that you'd fail," she said.
"Of course you did," Merlin said, still not facing her.
The person before him let out a deep groan, and Merlin quickly went back to tending to his wounds. He held his wand over the body, murmuring a few enchantments.
Morgana peered around him, trying to catch a glimpse of who he was tending to. Her heart skipped a beat when her eyes fell about a tuft of blond hair, and she had to grip the nearby chair to steady herself. Arthur.
A deep gash covered his stomach, the material of his tunic stained scarlet. His eyes were closed, the lids fluttering every now and then as Merlin worked on him.
She knew it would happen eventually. That he would get hurt, that he would run the risk of losing his life to save his kingdom. It was so typical of him—just like his cousin, Godwyn Gryffindor, Arthur never thought before leaping into action. It wasn't like she really cared all that much, either—many a time she had hoped he would stop getting in her way to greatness, even if that meant an injury or two. Still, she couldn't seem to bring herself to smile at his state now.
Taking a deep breath, she turned back to Merlin and scoffed. "I'm not surprised you'd choose to stay here and save your precious master, either."
"You say that as if I were a mutt," Merlin said, finally turning to face her. A dark eyebrow was raised as if prompting her to continue the petty and rather unoriginal insult.
Morgana rolled her eyes. "I just thought you were smart enough to realise that staying in this room unprotected by guards—oh yes, they've already been killed, I'm sure—is exposing you to the enemies. It will be only a matter of time before they come storming up the tower, their weapons brandished. Or are you going to try the innocent act again? Have them think you are a mere Muggle peasant forced into servitude?"
Merlin picked up a small phial from a low table near the bed and turned back to Arthur. Unstopping the top, he slowly poured the purple liquid over Arthur's wound. If she wasn't mistaken, she would have sworn that Merlin had a small smirk on his face; however, her attention was soon drawn to the hiss of pain coming from Arthur's clenched teeth. His skin was paler than it ever had been before, an almost yellow tinge replacing the red that usually coloured his cheeks.
"I could wipe out an entire army if I had to," Merlin said, pushing the liquid into Arthur's wound with a damp cloth. His eyes were narrowed as he concentrated, no trace of amusement on his face at all.
Morgana frowned. She had opened her mouth to call him out on his lie, but abruptly closed it. It wasn't really a lie, not at all. She had witnessed Merlin's anger before, had seen how he had channelled his magic into stopping his enemies when it was most needed. Even she herself knew she was lucky to be standing where she was, still, breathing, after being on the receiving end of Merlin's wrath—not that she would admit such a fact. An army of Muggles invading the castle with nothing more than swords and armour really didn't pose too much of a threat to Merlin, and the wizard leading them would be at a great disadvantage without them.
It, therefore, begged the question of why Merlin had not used his power yet to ensure that his own army—Arthur's army—hadn't accumulated as many losses as they had.
She was drawn out of her thoughts as Merlin clapped his hands together and grinned. His bright blue eyes danced with excitement as he put the cloth and potion away. Morgana's heart gave a traitorous leap, and she looked towards Arthur, expecting him to be fully awake.
The blond's eyes remained closed, his breathing more shallow than it had been before. Now that Merlin had moved aside, she could see that his wound was deeper than she had first thought, the blood still seeping from it. The only difference was that the purple liquid was now glowing faintly as it travelled around the skin and up through his body. It wasn't a potion she recognised, either—at least not a salve or healing concoction she recognised. Arthur shuddered, his breath now coming out in rasps.
"The least you could do would be to get the potion right," she said as soon as she found her voice.
She took a step forward, not sure what she could do but intent on trying when Merlin walked in front of her. Moving back to Arthur, he all but pushed her away and held his wand over the wound again. Chanting under his breath, pale green light emerged from the tip of his wand and flowed into the purple liquid making its way through Arthur's system. His thin lips were still pulled upward into a smile.
Arthur's breathing only got worse, sounding more and more like the dreadful sound of Dementors that his father had created.
Morgana's own breathing hitched, and her throat felt tight. "I'm not sure why you are so happy, but Arthur looks dreadful. You may as well give up now," she said, the last part barely a whisper.
She tore her eyes away from Arthur's suffering body. To her surprise, Merlin stopped what he was doing and pocketed his wand. When he turned to face her, his blue eyes sent a shiver down her spine.
"It won't be long now until we lose," he said, as though it were akin to telling her that the sky was blue or the grass green.
Another shiver flew down Morgana's spine, and she had the urge to look away. Instead, she crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, fixing her green eyes on his face.
"You say that like it's a good thing."
"It is."
This time, Morgana couldn't hide her shock. Her mouth popped open, only serving to make Merlin smile again.
"Once this war is over, I will go down in history. People will know who I am for eternity," he said, raking a hand through his dark hair.
Taking a small step backwards, Morgana tried to calm her now rapidly beating heart. He wasn't making sense. The boy before her, the one too weak to put himself above others, was now all but gloating about the potential destruction of everything he had ever fought for.
"You want to be known in history for losing a battle?" she said, trying to keep her voice light.
Perhaps the strain was too much on Merlin after all, and his way of coping was making tasteless jokes. Perhaps at the same time that Arthur had been injured, Merlin had also copped a blow to his head. It seemed the latter was more likely, for as Arthur now panted, too weak to even claw the sheets, Merlin only seemed amused.
"You do realise that people aren't going to be worshipping you when you can't even manage to save your friend," she said.
She could feel her eyes begin to sting, and she focused her glare on Merlin so that no tears would fall. Merlin was often tactless, but even she could not bring herself to make light of what was happening to Arthur. How could he, Arthur's best friend and sworn protector, be so callous?
"Won't they?"
Before Morgana could make sense of his words, Merlin turned and placed his hands on Arthur's wound. Leaning down to whisper something in the boy's ear, he then pressed down heavily on the gash. Blood was no longer pouring out, but it didn't matter. Arthur convulsed for a moment, his eyes flying open in fear, before he took a final, heavy breath.
"What did—how could—why—" Morgana shook her head, glancing back and forth from a still Arthur to a satisfied Merlin.
After checking Arthur's pulse, Merlin turned back to her. "You're crying," he said, reaching forward to wipe a tear from her cheek. This time, Morgana didn't hide her repulsion, taking yet another step away from him.
Merlin sighed, shaking his head slowly. "As far as I am concerned, I will go down in history as a hero. I tried to 'save' my best friend but was tragically too late."
"What?"
The wizard's face was now one of pity, as though he thought she was too stupid to understand the obvious. "You know as well as I do that I can easily ensure our men will win—Morgarath himself is far too old and incapable to match me. And they will win; Arthur just won't be there to play the part of hero this time."
Morgana shook her head, hoping the action would somehow sort out the delusions she was having right now. None of this was real; it couldn't be.
"It won't be that easy; people will figure out what you've done. You can't modify everyone's memory or prevent them from seeing that you murdered Art—him. For all you know, you will go down as a coward and traitor."
Gathering up his tools, Merlin swept past her towards the door. Morgana put as much distance between them as possible, not wanting him to touch her ever again.
"My dear lady, I can assure you that that will not happen. He stopped at the door, a smirk once again on his face. "History is written by the victors."
"You won't get away with this."
"Ah, but I already have. I don't know why you are so upset; you should be thanking me. This is everything you have ever wanted, remember? Arthur is out of the way for you to do as you please," he said. Then, with a small skip to his step, he left.
With the tears now leaving sticky tracks down her cheeks, Morgana turned to her lifelong enemy—and friend. Arthur's grey eyes were open, staring at the ceiling's low beams as though he were studying the patterns in the wood. His mouth was also parted, but not in the scream Morgana knew he would have held inside as his life was stripped from him. Ignoring the toxic smell of Merlin's potion, she ambled over to Arthur and pushed his eyelids closed.
As usual, Merlin was wrong. She wanted to be free of Arthur's controlling and arrogant manner, but not at this price.