Chapter One

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A warm fire crackled in the hearth as Morgana and Arthur ate their dinner in silence.

Morgana sipped wine from her goblet absently, contemplating the day's events. A shiver ran down her spine as she heard the wind howl outside, recalling its extreme coldness from an outing earlier that day to the city. Suddenly, Morgana felt a wave of gratitude wash over her, not only for her respite from the harsh, winter cold, or the delicious feast she was currently having (what a waste for just two people!), but for her entire position in life.

She pondered sadly the fate of those less fortunate, and the inevitable plight of all her half-hearted attempts to help them, knowing the fate of her family depended on the maintenance of the country's feudal system. It isn't that bad, she always told herself to assuage her guilt.

In any case, who would have refused the gifts her life had to offer, were they in her place? Most commonly, those who begrudged her her place in life were the ones who would have traded with her without a second thought, which the Lady considered the height of hypocrisy.

Wouldn't it have been easier – and more honest – to admit that they were just jealous?

"Morgana."

Suddenly, Arthur broke the silence. His voice was laced with incertitude. Morgana gulped hard, bracing herself for whatever was to follow. Ever since Gaius's diagnosis of Uther's terminal illness, their conversations were often heavier than their silences. She concealed her worries behind a smile.

"What is it, Arthur?" she asked, her voice a gentle, soothing melody to the man sitting across her; he immediately burst into a smile. The way his eyes always glittered whenever he looked at her was disconcerting to say the least. The way she found herself wanting to indulge his desires was even more so.

"I… I'm not sure how to say this," Arthur began, averting his gaze and scratching the back of his head. For all his twenty-something years, the blond resembled, in that moment, more an unwieldly adolescent than the Crown Prince of Camelot. "I have something to tell you."

"What is it?" the brunette inquired innocently, wondering if Uther's condition had worsened (why hadn't Gaius informed her, then?), or if there were more bad news from the Northern Border (more than likely, seeing as Uther's illness and Arthur's young age and perceived naiveté had only emboldened the Saxon savages.)

"Morgana…" Arthur's blue eyes locked with her green, and suddenly a bad premonition washed over Morgana. She, however, dismissed the thought as mere paranoia and chided herself for her so-perceived hysterics.

"Yes?" she asked encouragingly. Her smile seemed to have emboldened Arthur, who burst into a wide smile and said, "Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" he asked.

Morgana's eyes widened and lips parted in utter surprise. She chuckled nervously, barely audibly, hoping that Arthur might go on to reveal his proposal was a joke. When that didn't happen, Morgana was forced to realize that he was perfectly serious, and her moon-white face suddenly seemed ashen.

Arthur gulped hard, and began to sweat. "I – I know you're supposed to get down on one knee… but I thought, you and I have been friends for a long time –"

"I – I don't know, Arthur," she stammered nervously. "I mean –"

"I know – I know I haven't shown enough affection towards you recently – in fact, I might have even been neglecting you – but I was so consumed by my father's illness, I couldn't concentrate on anything else," he said.

Morgana opened her mouth to interrupt, but before she could articulate her tumultuous thoughts, Arthur quickly said, "You don't have to decide right away!" He even raised his hands as some sort of defensive gesture, Morgana presumed. "I know, I know it's a hard choice. Tying your life together with someone else's. I'm sorry. I'm sorry to spring this all on you now. But Camelot needs a ruler, and – and Uther's unfit to rule, you and I both know that."

Morgana noticed he refused to say that it was only a matter of time before his death. When it came to Uther, Arthur was always more emotional than pragmatic, unlike in all other aspects of his life. A contradiction in his nature, as doctors would say.

"The Saxon armies are advancing and we need to be ready when they get here. And I – I'm going to be King." He swallowed hard, as though finding it difficult to digest this turn of events. It certainly came before anyone would have anticipated, before Uther had planned. "And I need a Queen. I don't know who I can trust in Court. I only trust you. You're intelligent, you're extremely knowledgeable, and you –"

"Yes."

Her reply stunned them both. She had blurted it without thinking. Then she smiled, feeling in her heart of hearts it was the right decision.

"Yes!" she repeated, her eyes filling with joy. An adolescent fantasy, thought to have been forgotten, was now fulfilled, years after its conception and after months of yearning. But she was happy like a woman who could help a friend, happy like a citizen who could be of service to her country, and not as a little girl happy that her crush turned out to be requited. Her heart swelled with in acknowledgment of her own character growth.

Arthur's expression of surprise promptly morphed into one of disbelief and joy. It took a few more seconds for her decision to truly register, then, when he seemed to finally fully get it, he laughed with relief. She laughed with him. Two great friends, united in the ruling of a country. They would both do it for Uther, the one who gave Arthur life and the one who gave Morgana a new one when her old one was destroyed by the same Saxon invaders plotting to overthrow the Pendragon dynasty now.

Amidst all the euphoria that ensued after her acceptance of his proposal did it dawn on her that there was someone – possibly the only one in the Kingdom –, someone very dear to her heart, who might object to their union.

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"He asked me to marry him." She said. He blinked, swallowing hard. He braced himself for what was to follow. And then she dealt the final blow. "I told him yes."

Merlin's face contorted like a man's who had known this would happen all along. As a man who thought he had been an obstacle to an inevitable union, one planned by the Fates and halted by himself, a mere mortal, a chess piece on somebody else's board. But his power and influence had only lasted for so long, before the Fates took reign again.

"No!" he cried, reminding himself that despite mere mortal delusions, no such thing as Fate existed. "NO!" he repeated loudly, as he saw his entire empire crumble in front of his eyes. His empire had been on built on love and a hope of a future family – not on ambition on future riches, after which he had never lasted and still did not take even the slightest bit of interest in. His entire future hinged on the requisite of his feelings. Now that that was gone…

"I'm sorry, Merlin," Morgana said, her chest constricting with guilt. She suddenly felt sick to the stomach. "I really am…" She would have done anything to assuage his pain – and her guilt. She gently touched him in an attempt to soothe him, but he snapped her hand away roughly. Morgana took a step back, gasping.

"I'm sorry," Merlin said; he sounded like he was crying and his back quivered. "Just go. JUST GO!" he raised his voice, glancing back at her to emphasize his point. Morgana fled.

The image of his face, contorted with rage and bloodshot with tears, would haunt her for days to come.

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Days passed without contact.

Thoughts of Merlin crept into Morgana's mind at the most inopportune moments. Each time, she assuaged the guilt by reminding herself that the desires of one couple did not trump the interest of an entire nation.

Uther had taken her in when her own country was conquered by the Saxons, before her father was forced off the throne and her entire family decapitated; only she and her older sister had managed to escape the prison of a Castle that had once been their home, but the road from Cornwall to Camelot being so long and perilous, and their resources having been so few, her sister died from pneumonia before they could reach safe haven.

Morgana was the last living member of the once glorious Le Fay dynasty. What she was doing, she owed not only to Uther for all the kindness and grace he had shown on her, but to the memory of her own, martyred parents. If Merlin couldn't understand that, if he didn't even care to hear her out, so be it. Honor and justice were more important than his feelings.

Merlin, just like Morgana, could not stop thinking about Morgana's rejection. In hindsight, he understood her decision perfectly, even sympathized with her cause, even if he didn't personally like it.

He knew it was selfish to want her to give up her past and be his, fully and only his, and wouldn't have dreamt of forcing his will on her, but the news of her engagement to Arthur had come so out of the blue he had reacted with emotion, and not compassion. In hindsight, he felt guilty for scaring her; even days after the incident, he could still recall, painfully clearly, her face when he started yelling at her, looking even more scared than he had seen her be. Fear was an emotion he would never want to strike in the hearts of those whom he loved, but at the same time, he couldn't help but think his reaction was understandable too.

One minute, they are contemplating running away and planning their life together – the next, suddenly, she's betrothed to Arthur. Though, to be fair, there was a short interval between the two extremities: a period during which she started becoming increasingly distant with him, a period that began the day Uther's illness was diagnosed. Around that time, Arthur's attitude towards Morgana had also visibly changed, for one reason or another. Had his unrequited crush returned, come back to haunt him after a certain other woman was married off to a peasant like herself, no longer there to heal his aching heart and caress his gentle soul?

Merlin, not only because of his servant status, had always come second – or third, or fourth – behind Arthur. Arthur was smarter, more handsome, and, not to mention, infinitely rich and a royal. Though he always denied the obvious to himself, he was now faced with the ugly facts: he was irrevocably and irredeemably jealous of Arthur.

And now he had taken the only thing in his life he still lived for: Morgana.

And though he wished he could hate him, he really couldn't: Arthur was the most upstanding man he ever knew.

As a result, Merlin sat stewing in his own hatred, with nobody to direct it but himself.

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A week later, Merlin and Morgana's paths would again intertwine. It was a day before the annual melee, in which warriors from all over the country fought for glory. Arthur planned on participating. His father, temporarily better, planned on watching.

"Are you sure it is wise, Father?" Arthur had asked. They were in Gaius's study where the physician was feeding his father soup, like a mother a child. "Wouldn't it be bad strategy to have people see you in such a state and then spread the word? The Saxons have ears and eyes everywhere."

Uther swallowed the spoonful of chicken broth Gaius fed him before replying, "That is why," he said, the shadow of the man he once was temporarily returning, "must exercise constant vigilance at all times." His voice was booming and powerful. Merlin sat up straight in his seat instinctively. Uther was about to continue before he dissolved into a fit of coughs. Whatever had possessed him – a ghost of the past, perhaps? – was now gone, and so was any illusion of power and stamina. Uther looked so miserable for a second that even Merlin's heart constricted with compassion, despite all the wrong he had done him. "That is why," Uther tried to continue, "You cannot trust anybody. Only Morgana. Trust only Morgana."

"Yes, Father, I'm marrying her. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"No, no," Uther said feebly, shaking his head frantically, looking half-crazed. It was like he was talking, but he wasn't really there. "Marry for love, my son. I married for politics and look how my life had turned out. My own son doesn't even like me." Then he burst out laughing and his eyes glazed over and he commanded, "Soup," like an overgrown child, and was fed another spoon of chicken broth. It was like he was possessed, but Gaius swore he found no indication for anything else but a mental illness.

"Take me to the melee, Arthur. I want to see my son fight, even if it's the last thing I do." He still didn't seem completely there, but he sounded more lucid. In the end, it was Morgana who helped Arthur make the decision: "Let him come, Arthur. It won't matter whether the Saxon spies see him and report back to the generals; they already know he's terminally ill, and that you're taking over. Concentrate on showing them that you're powerful by winning the melee."

So it was that Uther's last, dying wish was fulfilled and sat excitedly in the Royal Stand as Arthur sat in his room, contemplating the immense crowd that had gathered for the melee through his window, feeling the pressure to live up to his father and to present himself as a threat to the Saxons weigh down upon him. Thousands of years could pass, and the weight of his father's expectations would still press down upon him. He could win a thousand and one battles, and it would still be never enough to live up to his father's legacy. Even in the grave, he thought, Uther's iron strong grip on his psyche would torment him forever.

Suddenly, the door opened and Morgana stepped in. A look of wonderment spread across his face as he saw her, looking more beautiful than ever; her hair was up in a chignon, and her eyelids sparkled the same silver color as her dress. She smiled back, glowing at being found beautiful.

"I've come to wish you luck," she said. "I thought you would be in your armor by now." She said, her smile faltering.

"I – I should be," he said nervously, "I don't know where my idiot of a servant is." He then snapped irritably, the façade of confidence back on. Morgana tsk-ed under her breath in disapproval. She wondered how grown men – Crown Princes in particular – could be brilliant men and yet still struggle to dress themselves without the help of a servant. She found it both infinitely sad and amusing.

"I can put on your armor," she said suddenly. "I know how to. I used to help my younger brother all the time."

Arthur burst into a grin. "Yes, I think I'd actually prefer that, thank you."

Morgana grinned back, and proceeded to dress Arthur. The air in between them seemed to grow hot, and when their eyes met, they acknowledged they weren't imagining it. Suddenly, Merlin ran in, coming to a sudden, screeching halt after stepping over the threshold.

"I'm here, Sire, I came as fast as I could –" he jabbered, panting furiously, then stopped dead in the middle of his sentence when he saw the scene in front of him: Morgana on her knees, strapping his boots on. He could immediately discern that he had interrupted a most intimate moment. He suddenly wished he wouldn't have come.

"Didn't you know how important this day was for me, Merlin? Did you leave me waiting on purpose, so I could fail?" Arthur normally didn't reprimand him so harshly for his failings – almost coming to see him as a friend over the years –, and Merlin suddenly couldn't understand the situation.

"I – no, I didn't, Sire –" Merlin stammered nervously, seething on the inside. I was busy preparing the umpteenth medicament for your father, he thought furiously. So he doesn't pass out or fall asleep during the melee he's so intent on attending despite all common sense. "I was helping Gaius with his –"

"Get out of here, Merlin!" Arthur snapped angrily. "Now that I'm King, you should show me a little more respect! Morgana will help me dress. You can watch the melee from the sidelines. Don't bother coming to the Royal Box. Send Rupert instead."

After Merlin left, and a few moments of terse silence passed, "You didn't need to be so harsh with him, you know."

"I did. It's what my father would have done."

Morgana thought it best not to comment that. She finished putting on his armor and smiled one last smile of encouragement. "There. You're ready to go."

Arthur returned the smile half-heartedly. He was anything but 'ready to go.'

Then his face suddenly underwent indescribable change, and he raised a large, tan hand to cup her cold, pale face. Morgana's eyes widened in shock. Ever since his proposal, their exchanges have been nothing but cordial.

He leaned in slowly, tentatively, searching her eyes for approval. He was ready to draw away when she suddenly kissed him on the mouth, all the love and desire she had once felt for him bursting out of the box it had lain dormant in, locked away, thought defeated, thought forgotten, but in the end, victorious and fulfilled.

Arthur, after getting over his initial shock of reciprocation after he had thought himself rejected, pulled her even closer, wrapping his arms around her waist as she dug into his hair, desperate as though for air or for water, as though trying to make up for all the years he had missed, wasting it on fighting and other women when he could have been with her. His heart ached for all the moments missed, and after they broke apart, he held her face in his hands, and looked her straight in the eye and said, "I never want to lose you again."

She searched his eyes for any signs of dishonesty, and when she concluded that she found none, she burst into a happy smile and said, "Neither do I."

And suddenly, all felt right in the world.

But outside of their little world stood Merlin, watching through the keyhole, slowly burning alive in his own personal hell.