Chapter Notes: I of course, unfortunately, do not own any rights to any Merlin characters. I am just writing fanfiction. I would truly appreciate any feedback one could give. Enjoy.


The setting sun painted the sky bloody, bruises and grapefruit on a Sunday evening, and shone in slanted passages of unpolished light through the windows of the castle of Camelot. The three Pendragons lounged in the room of counsel, Uther and Arthur absorbed by their third family member. Morgana was near tears, shaking and consumed by the mighty fear of the pyre that she was certain to be condemned to by the men that she called father and brother. Clueless and consoling, the uncertain pair begged their company to enlighten them to the mystery that had her so plagued with fear, but what little they did know would yet to cause an unbearable rift in all that they held dearest to their hearts. With a single shattering breath, the youngest Pendragon opened her full pale lips and whispered the words that would seal her fate.

"I have magic." Enthused the witch with palpable fear, so very faint from the lack of oxygen that came from her confession. Two pairs of piercing blue eyes stared down on her, one confused, the other concerned, though she could not distinguish for who was whom. The entire court seemed to have fallen silent as Uther Pendragon stared down his half-daughter, one single half of his heart, a majority of his world. The whole of Camelot was frozen in utter contempt; a witch for a princess in a kingdom which outlawed magic. How very much the supercilious Uther deserved in the eyes of his enemies, and yet they knew little of the love of a man for his daughter.

"Morgana... surely this cannot be true.. You are joking, are you not, my daughter? Tell me you are joking." What little hope the woman harbored in her body deflated from her quickly, and the air became frigid around her as the foul judgment of her father came to pass. She knew now what would happen, and she was afraid that Arthur did aswell, but Uther continued to speak uninhibited, fearful of the magic he so despised. "Magic is passed through family blood, but there is absolutely no magic in the pure blood of the noble house Pendragon. And your mother never had magic..." The dark hair of Morgana tangled around her face in heavy curlicues, as though trying to swallow her from site while her father and brother searched despondently for some reasonable explanation.

"This is no cruel joke, my father. My brother. It is true.." The girl choked, and her strong eyes of palest green frosted over to be certain she would not cry. "I harbor magic in my veins, my blood pulses the power through me, and I cannot resist. I have tried! Believe me, father, I have tried. I want it not to be true, perhaps more than you do, but it is the truth which I speak. I am a Pendragon, I speak not lies." As sudden proof, the stagnant air moved, just the slightest tug, a ripple; the smallest current of air tugged at the hair of Morgana, ripping at the thin veil of falsity that her father clung to. The winter green eyes flashed a vibrant yellow, and then the air was still again, and her relations stared at her in fright.

"Guards!" The scream of her father brought a choked sob to her lips, and Morgana stared at her father in disbelief. Trapped in the mouth of hell, the young Morgana grapple with the restraining hold of the knights of Camelot. Whatever strength she had faded from her and she collapsed into the hold of her captors as her brother sprung immediately into action, trying to reason with the man that was their father. Yet the woman was too far gone in her own head to even notice the arguing that took place not two feet from her.

"...urely the people recognize her, father. You cannot condemn her to death, she is my sister, your child. People know the daughter of Camelot, the second in line to the throne of the greatest of the five kingdoms. I beg of you, see reason. She is your pride and joy, my own as well, I dare to say. Would you really see her burned at the stake for simply being what she is?" Arthur Pendragon drove a hard, if cold bargain, and even Morgana could feel each ice cold word penetrating her soul and giving her the slightest hope for redemption, though she had done nothing wrong to deserve what had already come her way.

For time enough the people sat and waited the decision of Uther, Morgana strong once having regained her wits, Arthur brooding and deliriously hopeful, and the guards that still held Morgana curious and worried in the vaguest of ways. But when the man spoke again, his voice was drawn and it sounded as though he'd aged the years for every minute he sat in thought. "Release Morgana. Breathe not a word of this to anyone, or it will be your heads I have." His scar was puckered with worry as his forehead raised up, and the released Morgana fell to her knees immediately, quaking with shock and very bold terror, both splayed across her features in equal measure. Uther did not look at his daughter, and for that she was thankful.

With the grace that she had been taught to have, and the natural poise of a princess, Morgana raised herself from the ground and released her features to static. "I will excuse myself to my quarters, father, brother. Please think this over, know I mean you nor Camelot any harm. I am still the same Morgana I have always been, sire." The porcelain princess made a curtsy to the king, a very rare gesture for herself, and cantered quickly from the freezing counsel room. Unaware of what the future held, and terrified of what her memory served of the treason of magic.