A/N So, this is going to be a short and simple tale. It's just a plot bunny that's been rattling around in my head since Morgana came back to the castle in Season 3.
Prophecy
Winter made everyone a bit morose and insular so no one noticed her absorption. No one except Merlin, that is. He cast her constant suspicious looks; obviously thinking she was planning something.
The first night the dream had seemed a glorious prediction of victory. Camelot would fall. It was what she wanted, wasn't it? Uther gone?
She needed to be sure so she kept her bangle off to see if the dream was true or just a random, jumbled amalgam of her own hopes and fears.
The second night it unfolded the same. To a point. And then it changed.
It was one thing to want Uther gone and magic restored to the Kingdom. But should so many innocents be slaughtered as well? The powerless, the ordinary. There were sorcerers, she saw, ones who desperately hid their gifts from everyone. They hid in plain sight: their terror was her terror, the isolation hers as well.
They were mowed down by the tide as much as those who were complicit in Uther's brutal reign.
She woke the next morning uncertain in her determination to ignore the prophecy's warning.
Was it worth the cost?
Then she looked out of her window onto the courtyard and saw an old arthritic man hung for treason. His daughter was a hedge witch and he was guilty of not reporting her to the guards.
His body swung in the pallid winter sunlight and for a moment she saw her own corpse swinging in the breeze. She hardened her heart. This calamity would rid them all of this monster. And sacrifices were necessary in war.
She walked through the halls that day, a small victorious smirk flitting across her face at random moments.
Merlin saw it and she nearly laughed out loud when his white skin went ashen. She waited in an alcove and when he walked by dragged him in and simply smiled.
"Is something wrong, Merlin?" she asked, false concern dripping from her ruby lips. "You look as if you've heard bad news."
"I don't know what you're planning, Morgana, but I will stop you," he fired back in a fierce whisper.
"Me?" she said innocently. "I'm just the King's beautiful and devoted ward. About the only thing I'm planning is what to wear to dinner tonight. Cenred's representative is attending. A girl really should look her best."
"Cenred's representative is here to negotiate reparations for their failed attack. We won, Morgana, and he knows it. Mercia and Camelot will overrun his Kingdom come spring if he does not pay. So if you're planning on conspiring with Cenred..."
"Conspiring with Cenred? A loyal daughter of Camelot would never dream of such a thing, Merlin. But please, make the accusation. Seeing what Uther would do to you for making such a terrible and false allegation about his faithful ward... would make my evening just that more enjoyable."
She smiled at him and said sweetly.
"Of course, if you really believe that I'm up to something you could always murder me in cold blood. Isn't that what you do?"
At that, he wrenched his arm away from hers and stormed off down the corridor.
She allowed herself a small moment of pleasure.
"There was no part of that that wasn't fun," she whispered. And then she strode off towards her rooms. She really did have an occasion to prepare for. And she would endure it all that more easily knowing that everyone attending would soon be dead.
Morgana woke up with a gasp and then lay back on her down-filled pillows, her long black hair spilling across the bed.
She'd needed the third night, she'd thought, just to be sure. Just to be sure. Maybe it was the images of the dead peasants lying bloody on the ground or a strange sense that the dream hadn't ended.
But she'd put the bangle aside again and dived into sleep hoping to have confirmation of her decision.
She sat up, wrapped her fur-lined robe around her and downed a small glass of spirits to calm her nerves. Morgause had said she was uncontactable and Morgana was alone here. She thought back to the dream image of her own matted hair thick with blood spread across the rust-stained ground.
Everyone in Camelot would die if this dream came true. Everyone. Including her.
She glanced in the mirror at her terror-stricken face and watched as she willed it into steel. If she couldn't stop this dream, she would soon be dead.
She walked across the room to a chair near the dresser and sat in it with her robe wrapped around her icy feet. There was a way out, she thought. There must be. She just needed to work out what it was.
And soon.
