Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin or its characters. I just go on a little writing vendetta when the show doesn't treat them well. :P
A/N: I try really hard to accept canon, but the past couple episodes have simply been hard to bear. This is my attempt at a quick fix for both "The Crystal Cave" and "The Changeling."
Images of her - clothed in red, the jeweled dagger raised above her head - still haunt him whenever he closes his eyes. And each time he sees her face, delicate and fair, sees her soft black tresses, sees the cold gleam in her pale green eyes, he can fool himself no longer. He is the one responsible for the hatred that now consumes her once-joyful heart. Not Morgause, not Arthur, not even Uther.
At the end of the day, when he lies awake in bed, all the blame falls upon him and only him. He can see that now, though once he had been blind enough to believe the path she walks is of her own choosing. Just a short while ago, he had wondered how Uther could be so blind to Morgana's villainy, but e knows that he has been just as blind to the goodness that still resides within her, somewhere.
Sighing, he stretches his arm up, settles it beneath his head, and stares at the ceiling, as if it holds the answers he seeks.
He is here to protect Arthur; that is his destiny. But what of Uther? Where do the prophecies say that he must protect the tyrant king? Perhaps, just perhaps, it would be better if he were to let Morgana and Morgause succeed in their scheming. Then Camelot would be free of his oppression, free to return to its previous grandeur. The question he keeps reverting to, though, is whether Arthur is truly ready to rule. He's proven himself in battle, certainly, time and again, but he is still distrusting of magic. And if they are going to build a new Albion, the young prince still has much to learn.
Can Morgana not see this? Can she not see that it will be better to wait, to bide their time until Arthur is ready? Or does she truly not care about her brother, and care only about seizing the throne for herself? He called her 'friend' once, and though he's had a hard time discerning her motivations ever since her return to Camelot, the Morgana he knew would never betray a brother like that, would never destroy his happiness by putting her own selfish desires over his needs.
But she does not see any of this, because he has left her in the dark. She is the lady of the castle, admired by all and yet truly loved by very few. The love she did possess has slowly faded away. Gaius treats her as he ever has, as a child to be kept in ignorance of her true abilities. Gwen, never knowing when her mistress's temper will erupt, simply does her duty nowadays. Arthur has more important things on his mind than whether she is readjusting to court life. And Uther . . . Uther has denied her very existence, hidden her away behind a lie. He knows how it feels to grow up without a father, but he cannot fathom what it would be to be denied by one.
And that's when it dawns on him. The only thing Morgana wants, the only thing she has ever wanted, is acceptance, to be loved for who she truly is, magic and all. Since he and Morgause are the only two to know about her magic, he is again reminded of the guilt resting upon his shoulders. Two people, two choices, but only one of which she knew. Of course she would go with her sister.
He sits up abruptly in bed, the sheets falling down around his waist. He had been prepared to give her up, to count her as his first loss in the war for Albion, but what if he gave up too quickly? What if he's the only one who can save her?
The closer he gets to Morgana's chambers, the harder it is to breathe, and when he finally arrives before her door, he's nearly suffocating under the weight of his own conscience.
She opens the door looking bleary-eyed and exhausted. It occurs to him that he's interrupted a midnight scheming session, but then he notices the genuine sorrow in her usually cold eyes.
"It's you," she sighs dismissively, not even bothering to sneer at him, before pushing the door closed.
Quickly, he braces both hands against the door. "Stop. Please."
Morgana's eyes narrow. "I could call the guards, you know, have you arrested for violating my private chambers in the middle of the night."
Lips pursed, he bows his head, a shameful blush rising to his cheeks when he thinks of how he last confronted her in this room. "I know. But you won't, I think." She still looks skeptical, eyes flickering down the hallway for any sign of the guard on is rounds. "Honestly, Morgana," he pleads, "I just want to talk."
Frowning, she takes a step back and lets him squeeze past the nearly-shut door and into the room. Once inside, he takes a breath and takes her in. She's still dressed from the day, still in that green dress he used to love so much. Still loves, if he's truthful with himself.
"Were you expecting someone?' he queries quietly. "Morgause perhaps? Although I don't expect she uses a door . . ."
"What do you want, Merlin?" she asks, fatigue laced in her voice as she crosses to gaze out the window, her back to him.
When he's alone with her, he often has to remind himself not to stare. She's always been beautiful, he's always been captivated, but how is it that such cruelty can reside in such a stunning frame? Now, though, considering her form in the moonlight, taking note of the sagging shoulders and the brokenness, he realizes how wrong he's been. He simply cannot believe that her beauty is a mere mask for her wickedness.
She is still beautiful, if only because she is beautiful to him. And if there is but a speck of goodness left in that heart, he will root it out. He's determined to.
After a few moments of futilely opening and closing his mouth, he finally says, "To apologize." She stays silent, doesn't turn, but he continues, "I've hurt you. What I've done is . . . beyond forgiveness. And you hate me now, I understand that. You should. I deserve your hatred."
He pauses, his breathing ragged with emotion. If she would just turn around, look at him. If he could see into her eyes, see what she's really feeling.
With a heavy sigh, he begins to pace, making his way around the bed. "That night in the catacombs," he says, "you told me that there was no other way. I should have listened. I should have been able to convince you, because there is another way. There is. It doesn't have to be like this, Morgana."
He lifts a hand to the post of her bed, runs his fingers over the smooth grain. When he turns and lifts his eyes, she's facing him.
"You don't understand, Merlin. You never will," she says, but there's no force behind her voice.
She averts her gaze, but the Morgana he knows is still there, somewhere, beneath the façade. If he can just break through to her.
He shakes his head. "You're wrong, Morgana. I understand your hatred of Uther. I understand what it is to feel alone. The only thing I don't understand is why you're so eager to sacrifice anyone and everyone who gets in the way of your plans, including people you claimed to have once loved."
"Do you really think they would still love me if they knew what I am?"
"Yes. Having magic doesn't make you a monster, Morgana."
Taking a few steps closer, she scoffs, "And how long are you going to stand there lying to me, Merlin? Telling me magic is nothing to fear and yet never offering the guidance I know you can give?"
Merlin blanches, suddenly overwhelmed by the pain in her eyes. "You, you knew?"
"You don't deny it, then? When I think of all the times you left me to wonder what would happen should Uther find out my true nature -"
"I meant to tell you," he breaks in.
"But you never did."
The statement is filled with grief, as if she can see everything they will become, every poor choice they will make.
He lets his shoulders sag and admits, "No, I didn't. But I didn't want-"
"I don't need your excuses, Merlin."
"No, but you need to hear my explanations. Please, Morgana. I don't want to lose you."
For a moment, he thinks she's going to lash out at him, retreat behind that hardened exterior, but she simply swallows and spins around to gaze out the window again.
Taking that as permission, he tells her in a rush, "I didn't tell you at first because you are the king's ward. You didn't need another secret to keep, another life to protect. And then, I just grew too comfortable. That's no reason, I know, but it's the truth. I wanted to believe that if you didn't have the opportunity to learn about magic, you wouldn't be subjected to your fate, that we could thwart it. And when you came back to Camelot, I thought I couldn't trust you anymore. That is why I never told you."
Lips pursed, he strides across the room to stand beside her. She still won't look at him, keeping her chin raised. Her strong profile looks even more commanding and defiant due to the moonlight filtering through the glass and casting deep shadows on her pale skin.
He shakes his head, fights the urge to reach out for her. "You'll never know how much I regret that."
Morgana takes a deep breath. "And how can I trust you, Merlin? How do I know you're not offering me sweet words tonight only to poison me the next time, confused and lost, I make the wrong choice?"
He knows, can see now that she's terrified of being hurt again. He never meant to hurt her, never meant to let her down. Grasping her hands desperately, he wills her to look at him, just one glance to tell him she's not gone.
"Because I believe in a new Albion, one only Arthur can create, one in which magic is celebrated."
His voice cracks on the last word, and he forces himself to stay quiet, to wait for a reaction. She hasn't moved, but she hasn't shaken off his hands yet either.
She lets out a soft sigh. "You believe he is not his father's son, then?"
"Are you your father's daughter?"
Rounding on him, ruby lips tight with anger, she pulls her hands out of his grasp and replies, "Uther Pendragon is not my father. My father was a great man. My father was kind, and generous. My father loved me, mistakes and all."
"Still," he presses gently, "you have risen above your true parentage. Do you not think Arthur can do the same?"
"I don't know," she tells him, suddenly flustered as she moves over to sit down on the bed. "Sometimes, I think, I hope, but . . ."
"But what?"
Shaking her head, she looks up at him. "I've never Seen it."
He understands now. Morgana is the type of person who needs constant confirmation, and he can simply imagine her uncertainty as she traipsed down different paths in the hopes that just one would alter her dreams.
"What do you See?" he asks softly, coming to stand in front of her.
"Destruction," she breathes, "suffering, death. Sorrow."
A crease forms in his forehead when he frowns. Hesitantly, he sits down beside her, aware that he is very much overstepping his bounds. "Perhaps . . . perhaps it is your destiny to change that future then."
She looks at him earnestly. "Is that how visions work?"
"Visions of the future," he chuckles ruefully, "are tricky things."
"But you think that if I join you, I can help create this new Albion?"
He gives her a tight, hopeful smile. "I think that, together, we could bring magic back to Camelot."
"But only when Arthur is king," she breathes.
Once again, he slides a hand onto hers for reassurance. "Yes, but think - if you, a sorceress, were to kill Uther, it would only reinforce Arthur's hatred for magic. But if he comes to the throne naturally, all the while seeing his father's missteps, and learning that magic can be used for good, then we will change his mind." He sighs. "I know you don't trust me, but . . . all I'm asking you to do is to wait."
After a moment's contemplation, she nods, though he's not quite sure whether he's convinced her of anything.
Taking a deep breath and giving his fingers a light squeeze, she rises from the bed. "You better be going. It's late, and no doubt Arthur will have you up early doing useless chores."
He laughs softly. "Of course, milady. I'll leave you to your rest," he says before turning to go.
"Goodnight, Merlin."
And just before he slips back into the hallway, he looks back to see her set her bracelet on the bedside table.
Merlin looks up from his dinner as the door to Gaius's study opens and Morgana sweeps into the room. He stands hastily, nearly sending his cup toppling.
"Lady Morgana," he greets, surprised and a little nervous. She hasn't spoken to him since the other night, and he's been left to stew over the effect of his arguments on her. But one look into her eyes sets him at ease. "Gaius isn't here," he tells her softly, "but, um, I could get you a sleeping draught if you'd like."
She shakes her head. "That's not what I've come for."
"Please, er, sit," he says as he gestures awkwardly at the bench across the table.
Nodding, she smoothes her skirts, sits gracefully, and gazes at him as he sits back down. "I've come because I need your help."
His heart skips a beat. They've been on opposing sides for so long that he can't even remember the last time she asked for his help. "What sort of help?"
"I've had another dream. Elena is . . . not who she claims to be. I fear Arthur does not understand what a marriage to her could entail. I fear . . . there are others who will be hurt by any such union."
Merlin tilts his head. "Do you mean Gwen?" Her quick glance is enough to give him a satisfactory answer. "So what do you want to do?"
"I think," she frowns thoughtfully, "we need to stop the wedding."
"Work together, you mean?"
She nods, almost shy, but her gaze dares him to question her concern for her brother and closest friend.
"Okay, then," he grins, and for the first time in a long time, Morgana returns the smile.