A/N: Huge thanks to all reviewers!

Then comes a time when you do not see Merlin. Morgause is back, with a pleased smirk on her face. When you ask her why, she pulls you into her chambers before answering. Morgause's chambers are much like yours-luxurious-but all in shades of red that make the air feel heavy.

Her eyes glitter as she tells you what she's been doing.

"There is a man, named Cenred. My troth was given to him by our Father when I was born, and I have just now gone to meet him." She tosses her head and laughs. "And he is mine."

"You bedded him?" You're dying to comment on her hypocrisy.

"No, of course not." Morgause shakes her head as if that's absurd. "I've done everything but that. Men are weak, and this one is devoted solely to pleasing me. I cannot tell you about the plans, but Morgana, Albion is going to be great."

"I was under the impression it already was." The little you'd seen of it, anyway. Your whole life can be divided between Tintagel and the Isle, and neither of them are much connected to Albion.

"Yes, but so few dare use magic! With Cenred's help…" She sighs. "Sister, I wish I could tell you more. Know that great things are afoot."

You would have a greater appreciation of "great things" if they weren't delivered as cryptic comments. Maybe Morgause is trying to point out that your dreams are not the only future.

You hope she's right. In your dreams you see hundreds of tiny drops of red spray into the air, then come down on an upraised face like rain. You see Mary Collins with a knife, singing, and a room of people covered in spider webs.

That's a particularly terrifying dream, because you know Mary Collins. She is old and bitter and hates Camelot, like most practitioners, but she's slyer than the common woman. You've seen the way her eyes dart about in their sockets, and adjusted your posture to be straight upright, fearless. She always hurries along then, and your mind eases, but you don't hate her.

And in the second part of the dream, guards overwhelm her and murder her on the spot. You wake up screaming. You rush to her the morning after, grab her hand and whisper to her that she should not go to Camelot.

"I know that, highness." She rips her arm away and glares. You step back, and she totters away, muttering. You are left with a deep sense of foreboding, and the knowledge that you have no friend in that witch.

The lessons with Nimueh come easier. You're beginning to like the woman. She may be cruel, and she may have no hesitation about hitting you when you make foolish mistakes, but you can acknowledge how fair she is. And she praises you when you finally see into the basin and realize that the blood is tiny men, who march across the land in armies.

You make progress. One day, you make pure white roses sprout from the ground and bloom. Nimueh looks at them for a long time, and you wonder what she's thinking.

"They're exquisite." Is her final comment. Morgause smiles at you from her shoulder. "I've not seen like them for a long time."

"Thank you." You fold your hands in front of you. You haven't seen Merlin in over a week. You miss him. You want to give him the flowers, and think that his praise would be warmer than Nimueh's. You think maybe he would give you flowers in return, and you would love them.

You think that you need to stop these thoughts, because they are pointless. You're thinking that as you leave Nimueh's study, your head down because your eyes hurt after all that straining into the basin, when you bump into him.

Literally. And he trips, and you have to grab his arm to keep him from falling on his arse, and he grins at you at he gets his feet under him. Your eyes don't hurt so much.

"Thanks." You haven't released his arm yet, and Merlin isn't objecting to your touch at all. "I think we're even in the falling over because of each other scales now."

"I should find a spell for your clumsiness." You respond. Morgause and Nimueh are still in the study, you can talk to him freely. He smiles at you.

"I don't mind falling." You blush. He does too. "Have a good lesson?"

"Ah…" You know that there's going to be a headache in store for you tonight, and it's going to make your nightmares worse. "It was regular. I'm beginning to hate that basin."

He rolls his eyes. "Gods, I know. Don't you just want to smash it sometimes?"

"Yes." You say fervently. He laughs. You laugh with him. "What are you doing around here, anyway? Usually you're off cleaning floors."

"Excavating!" Merlin protests. "I'm looking at other parts of the castle! And possibly cleaning off dust as I go along."

"Pardon me." You say gravely. "You're dusting, my mistake." He lightly shoves you.

"Bah. But to answer your question, I wanted to talk to Nimueh. Is she free?" You shrug.

"Morgause is in there talking to her." Merlin frowns. "Was it important?"

"It was about her pet Afanc." You raise an eyebrow.

"Gesundheit."

"No, it's a water creature. It's pretty deadly, and I wanted to talk to her about what she's going to use it for." For a second, you're blown away by his honesty. Then by the fact that Nimueh has a deadly water creature.

"What's she going to do with it?" Merlin shrugs.

"That's what I wanted to ask. It brings plagues. I don't like plagues." His eyes darken. You think it's an extremely attractive look, though a troubling one. You touch his arm, and his eyes go back to their previous shine.

"Good luck." Merlin grins at you.

"Thanks. Are you busy later?" You are not. You think of Morgause and her warnings, and your royal blood, and how kings and princes were lining up to marry you. Then you think of peaceful talk and laughter, and Merlin's smile.

"I'm free. Do you want to maybe go outside the walls, and have something to eat?" There's a grassy verge between the castle walls and the lake, and no windows open onto the lakeside. You'd be unobserved.

"I'd love to." The door opens, and Morgause steps out. Her eyes flit from you, to Merlin, to you. Her mouth twists. Merlin smiles at her. "Is Nimueh busy?"

"No." Nimueh appears in the doorway. "Come in Merlin."

He goes inside, shooting you one last smile over his shoulder. The door closes, and Morgause glares at you. You cross your arms. "Morgause, we were having a conversation. Relax."

"I know." Her scowl melts. "Believe me, that was only for his benefit. I know full well that you're smarter. But that boy's a fool."

You're not sure that just a glare from Morgause will cow Merlin. Maybe it is only stupidity, but you've never seen him looking genuinely afraid. Just cheerful.

"Obviously." You toss your head. "How is Cenred, these days?"

"Desperate to please me." Morgause smirks. The two of you drift away to speak about Morgause's twisted romance. You find it fascinating. In your parent's marriage, your mother was half your father's age and the only time you can think of that she spoke against a decision of his was when he suggested marrying you to Arthur of Camelot.

In Morgause's world, she teases her future husband and he gives in to her every demand. She gleefully tells you about how she's changed dates, showed up late to events, refused to dance with him until he performed little tasks for her.

Later, when you're with Merlin, you think that this isn't like either of those relationships. Merlin and you laugh together and talk about magic, and you learn that the basin thing is called "scrying", and it's easier to do it with water than a mirror. He says you can do something like that with fire, and is offering to show you when you put up a hand to silence him.

"Is that Mary Collins?" Merlin twists around. You're both sitting on the grass, and the boat is within sight. A hunched figure is climbing in.

"I think it is." Merlin begins to get to his feet. "I'll go help her into the boat, she looks like she's having trouble."

"Merlin!" You pull him back down. "What do you think she's doing? I've never seen Mary Collins leave."

"I dunno." Merlin obviously doesn't have a suspicious mind. "It's not like anyone is forcing her to stay here. Maybe she found what she was looking for."

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone here is looking for something. It's what makes the boat move." As he speaks, Mary settles herself. The boat glides over the lake, causing not a ripple. You shiver. As always, the glass surface of the lake disturbs you.

"What were you looking for?" You ask. Merlin shrugs.

"A place to be normal." You laugh.

"I'm not sure if that's in the cards for you Merlin." He grins at you, not at all offended.

"Fine. Just a place for myself in the world then." This is not at all a place in the world. This is a place beyond the real world, where with a little discretion you can sit alone with a nobody. In sudden appreciation for that you lean against him, and Merlin wraps an arm around you. "What about you?"

"I don't know." Your head fits perfectly against Merlin's shoulder. You close your eyes and sigh.

"Fair enough." Merlin begins to absently stroke your hair. It's a very pleasing sensation.

Right now, you can't think of anything you could possibly want, except to be here forever.

When Morgause comes to your chambers, you think that she's found out. Though you're only really friends with Merlin, she's found out that you really really like him, and she's furious.

Her face is like stone. She takes a deep breath. You wait for the axe to fall.

"Our father has died." The world spins around you. "Mother too."

"W-what?" You back up and fall onto the bed. You have the grab the headboard to steady yourself. Morgause follows you and sits next to you, holding your hand.

"In the war with King Alined." You didn't know there was a war going on. "He was on the front lines, and he was shot with arrows. Mother fell ill during winter, and the news of father's death was too much for her." Morgause holds out a letter.

You take it, mind whirling. Father is dead. How can father be dead? You could believe him going to the front lines, the King of Cornwall would never let his troops fight alone, but dying there? Where were the physicians? Where were the troops who should have flung themselves into the arrow's path?

The letter is addressed to the daughters of Cornwall. It describes now nobly Gorlois fought at that final battle, and how your mother died. It says firmly that there was no proof of sorcery.

"Oh, Morgana." Morgause embraces you. You cling to her, shaking.

How could you have not known that there was way? How could your father have been in such danger without you, a trained warrior, by his side? You hadn't written to him in weeks, hadn't seen him since the day you left home. You were angry at him then. You never got to say a proper goodbye.

"W-what will we do?" Morgause isn't nearly so affected as you are. Or else she's hiding her grief. You remember that she left home when you were too little to remember her and hasn't been back since then.

"Talk to Nimueh. She's got all of Father's documents." You walk down the halls after Morgause like one in a trance. The clack of both your heels on the stone floor reaches your ears and echoes.

Nimueh looks at you sadly when you reach the study.

"I'm sorry, child." There's genuine sympathy in her eyes. "I lost my family as well."

"What happens?" You ask. Somehow your voice is hoarse. You know you aren't old enough to rule Cornwall, though it is a small kingdom. Nimueh waves a hand, and a gust of wind blows several papers into her hands.

"Your father long ago made provisions for you if he and your mother should die. You'll go to Camelot, to be the ward of Uther Pendragon." You jerk your head up to stare at her, eyes wide. It's horribly bad taste to mock one whose parents are dead.

"What?" Nimueh holds up a hand.

"You knew they were old friends. Uther Pendragon knows not that you have magic. He isn't even aware that Morgause lives." Nimueh riffles through them until one is on top, one with gilt edges and your father's signature alongside another scrawl. "Besides, his son is dead."

"What?" It's never before struck you how isolated from the outside world you are.

"Assassinated by a witch." Morgause says.

"Then he'll only be more paranoid about magic! I can't…" You trail off. Nimueh is frowning at you, the way she frowns when she's about to give you a smack on the wrist.

You barely notice the way her eyes go to Morgause before her face smoothes out. Like she's handing off the situation to someone else.

"Morgana." Morgause gently wraps an arm around your shoulder. "This was father's wish. Surely you can let him have his way now, trust that he knew what was best."

You shudder, and think of Father's warm green eyes, his strong hands as he helped you up after your first disastrous swordplay lesson, of how he never ever made you go back to your room once you'd had a nightmare. You think of how you left angry at him.

It doesn't change that you are afraid of Camelot.

But you are now more than ever a daughter of Cornwall. You'll make him proud, go to Camelot and shine there. You straighten your shoulders and lift your chin. Above all, you will not admit your fear to these two.

"Fine. When must I depart?" Nimueh and Morgause exchange looks.

"Ride out tomorrow. An escort from Camelot will meet you at Tintagel."

You find in your rooms that everything has been packed. You sit on your bed and try to become numb. When you finally get to sleep, you dream about frantically clawing at an enormous wooden door, banging your fists against it until they bleed. You wake up when, the in the dream, you collapse against the door sobbing.

In your finest dress and beautiful silver jewelry, you go down to the boat. Nimueh and Morgause are both waiting for you there. Morgause smiles when she sees you.

"You look like a Princess." She says. You smile faintly.

"Morgana!" Merlin. You whirl around as he comes stumbling down the castle stairs, tripping once and ripping the knee of his pants on a stone. But he doesn't knock into you, that's a plus. He stops just in front of you, panting. "I just heard, I'm so sorry."

"Thank you." You whisper. Outside of your vision Nimueh steps back with a sad smile, and Morgause tightens her mouth. "You're a good friend."

"I try." He smiles at you. "You're very brave."

That gives you enough courage to lift your chin and smile back. "I'll miss you."

"You shouldn't be alone in Camelot." Merlin says firmly. He steps forward and hugs you. You rest your head against his chest for a moment, breathing in deeply and letting his arms comfort you.

"I'm afraid." You whisper to him. Merlin you can trust with this. You're confident he won't judge you, or hit you, or speak to you sharply.

"You're more than a match for anyone Camelot can throw at you." Merlin murmurs back. "And I'm going to find a way to help you."

You doubt that he can, but the fact that he'll try warms your heart. You step away from him then, and Morgause closes in. She grabs your wrist and shoots Merlin an irate look. He responds with a grin.

"Just saying goodbye." He stands next to Nimueh and watches as you step into the boat with Morgause. Your sister is going to come with you to Tintagel, thank heavens. This is a journey you would hate to make alone.

The boats glides away, and you fail to fight back tears.

Returning to Tintagel is strange. It's not like coming home at all. The crashing sea is familiar, and comforting after the silent lake, but the boxy castle is tiny to you, and your rooms have too many memories.

You stay long enough to visit the graves of your parents. You kneel before your father's, blinking back tears. It's a modest grey headstone, with his name engraved on it in flowing script. Beneath it are the words "A good King, a good Father, and a Loving Husband."

Your mother's next to his, smaller and made of white marble. Looking at the dates you realize that your mother was about your age when she married your father and gave birth to Morgause. You came later, when she was in her twenties. By then your father was well into his later fifties. He was over seventy when he died.

It's funny, how he never seemed so old to you. White haired, yes, but strong. And your mother didn't look young. You just remember that she was small.

You have an inheritance from each. Your father left you his sword, a beautiful broadsword with emeralds in the hilt and the word "courage" written on the blade. You will use this with pride.

Queen Lisanor left you a few things. A beautiful red dress, that leaves the shoulders bare and emphasizes your curves. You have trouble picturing her in it. There's also a pendant, one she bequeathed especially to you. The rest of her jewelry will be divided between you and Morgause, but this was for you. It's a beautifully carved dragon on a chain, that resembles the Pendragon Crest.

Maybe she knew where you would be going. You have Morgause clasp the chain around your neck, and like the way it settles on your collarbone. After this all that you have to do is wander around the castle and wait for your escort to come.

The most interesting thing that happens in this time is you finding a portrait of your mother. It was drawn before you were born, and she is a beautiful young girl, with golden locks that tumble around her shoulders. They're bare, she's wearing the same dress she gave you, and her light blue eyes shine. She's not a large woman, the dress's neckline comes up a bit farther on her chest than on yours. Her delicate features are smooth, and do not have the sadness hers did in life.

You can scarcely believe it's her. Morgause sees it and draws her fingers over the canvas, eyes sad. She says quietly that she had almost forgotten how beautiful her mother was. She and you hug, and you feel some moisture some on your shoulder.

The escort from Camelot arrives not a day later. Morgause watches from a window as you mount the beautiful white palfrey-somehow he made it back from the forest-and move away. Your train of baggage stretches behind. The men in red livery with the golden dragon surround you, and you rather want to point out that there is a sword in your saddle, you do know how to defend yourself.

That won't do anything. You're a Princess again, and more importantly you're King Uther's ward. Men scuttle around you, setting up a luxurious tent every night and jumping at your each command.

If this how the King's ward is treated, the one who hasn't even made it to Camelot, you have to wonder at what the late Prince Arthur was like. You do however, note that the men are slightly surprised at how you ride all day and don't complain.

Your father didn't raise a whiner.

Since you can ride harder than half these soldiers, the journey to Camelot takes only a week. You rein in your horse to look up at the city before entering. You want to appreciate this last glimpse from the outside.

It's enormous. All made of white stone and shockingly high battlements, grand and powerful and awe inspiring. You cannot imagine this place being taken by any mortal men. It's grand, and probably meant to intimidate people.

It's worked. You can hardly believe that this is the same city where so many of your people have burned. It's too beautiful. This was a place that was made to be a sanctuary and learning and art.

After one look, you kick your horse back into a trot and enter the city.

It's very different on the inside. It's not as majestic here, where there are poor scuttling through the street and beggars in rags. Some stare at you, openmouthed. You smile at them.

How interesting. The people are shocked that you acknowledge them so. You wave to a few, and toss coins to all the beggars. You can't bear the thought of not throwing coins to them, not while you wear a dress that's probably worth more than their year's earnings.

There are also many, many, guards.

You have to pass the pyre before you can enter the citadel. You hold your head high as you go past the stand where there is not only a block for people to be beheaded, but a special platform for burnings and a gallows. There's even a well, one that looks quite big enough to drown someone in.

With such options, how does King Uther choose which form of death the sorcerers should be given?

Once you get to the citadel, things are different. The polished white stone is back. The number of guards has doubled. There are many servants. One to take your horse, one to kneel on the ground for the privilege of helping you dismount, a hundred to grab your baggage and take haul the trunks to your chambers, wherever they are.

You ignore the servant and dismount on your own. No need to instantly become chattel.

There are yet more guards around the door to the throne room. You take a deep breath before they open the doors, and prepare to meet your father's old friend, the man who campaigned with him when your father was in his prime and Uther was a younger man, the man who executes children.

The doors open. The King is not as impressive as your father. He's more heavily ornamented than Gorlois typically was, and looks older despite his relative youth.

"Lady Morgana." Lady, you notice. Not Princess. So, your status decreases as his ward.

"Your highness." You curtsy before him. Uther bends over and kisses your hand. Then he steps back and scrutinizes you. "I thank you for taking me in."

"The deaths of Gorlois and Lisanor were tragic." He responds. His eyes slowly travel over you. To your surprise, they linger on your face rather than your breasts. "It is my honor to take you into my court."

"Again, I can only say thank you. You have a beautiful country." That's not at all a lie. Riding through Camelot, you saw deep green forests and lush meadows and a country that by all rights should be more prosperous than it is.

"That is not my doing." You study your new guardian. His eyes are a light grey very much like your own, and they are dead. Utterly, completely, lifeless, except for the glimmer of pride when you compliment Camelot. "The land is it's own, all I can do it keep filth from it."

"Oh?" You say politely. His eyes go from lifeless to full of hate.

"Sorcery. It is the plague that befouls Albion, and I daily fight against it." You fight the urge to recoil. Uther has turned from someone you think you might pity to someone who would burn you at the stake. Or hang you. Or maybe he would drown you, Uther is a man with options.

"I…" You must not be caught. You must never let this man know who you truly are. You must have been mad to let Morgause talk you into coming here. "You are very courageous, to fight such a deadly foe."

You said the right thing. Uther doesn't smile, but approval lightens the hate.

"I see that Gorlois raised you well. But go, you must be exhausted. Rest before the banquet." You are relieved. King Uther turns away, and you leave to go to your rooms. They're far from the throne room. This castle is enormous, with even more strange corridors than the Isle.

Your rooms are worth the wait. They're large and come with a beautiful canopied bed, a screen more ornate than half the dresses you own, and a simply gorgeous mirror. Camelot is wealthy indeed.

There is also a girl in your rooms.

"Ah, may I help you?" You ask her, shutting the door. She's in an obviously homespun yellow dress, and looks nervous.

"Oh no my Lady, although I'm sure that you could, what with being a Lady and the King's ward, but that's not important, I'm actually here to help you however I can…" She blushes. "I'm Guinevere."

"Oh." You're going to guess that she's either your maid, or your Lady in waiting. You ask her which. She blushes.

"I'm not a Lady at all, because my father's a blacksmith, which though it's a very nice job isn't actually nobility at all and I was assigned your room because usually I help with the guests who come but they don't actually visit so often since the Prince died…" You laugh. You've never met someone who babbles this way.

"Well then, I'm happy to meet you. Please Guinevere, call me Morgana." She smiles

"Call me Gwen please my Lady Morgana." You like that. Gwen is a hell of a lot easier to get from your mouth than Guinevere, and it's far more pleasant sounding.

"I will, Gwen. Now please, help me get the ties on this dress." She does, adeptly, all the while chattering about the daily events of Camelot. You'll have to find out from her what to avoid doing to not be caught as an enchantress.

And she's kind. You can tell that in a heartbeat. It will be nice, to have the one who cares for you be kind.

Eventually though, you dismiss her, and sit down on your bed.

You are in Camelot now. You are in danger every moment here, and no matter how kind your maid is, Gwen will be duty bound to report any suspicion of magic. That includes prophetic nightmares.

Before the feast, there's a knock at your door. You open it, and an old man stands in the entrance. He smiles at you in a grandfatherly way.

"My greetings, Lady Morgana. I'm Gaius, the court physician." He bows. Your response is a small curtsy. You stand aside to let him in-if the guards outside your door don't object, you see no reason to.

Besides, he is an old man. You're hardly going to compromise your honor with him.

"Good afternoon." You say. "I assure you though, I'm not ailing."

"Good!" He comes into the room and drops a bag on your table. Gaius talks as he rummages through it. "I hate walking up these steps. I've got an apprentice coming, but he's not going to be here for at least a week, and if you were ill I'd need to climb up and down constantly."

"I shall do my best to remain in good health." There's a bit of amusement in your tone. Gaius isn't particularly intimidated by your status. You think that you're going to end up treasuring the people like that.

"Yes, and to keep you in health I've got get a list…" he finally yanks a scroll and a quill from his bag. "Aha! Do you have any allergies?"

"No." He scribbles down a couple words, holding the paper close to his eyes. You decide not to tell him that he's got an ink stain on his nose, likely from doing just that.

"Any existing conditions, wounds, things I should know?" Inspiration strikes.

"There's one thing." You twist your hands. "I have nightmares often. I hate to bother you about such a trivial thing, but they often woke me in Tintagel, and should something happen to me that puts me into your care, I should hate for them to be an awful surprise."

"Nightmares?" He sounds interested. "How bad?"

It's better to be completely honest here. If you come clean about the nightmares, it's less likely anyone will be suspicious about them.

"I sometimes wake myself screaming." That happens more often than not. Gaius writes frantically. You think that this apprentice had best get to Camelot soon, or the poor man is going to end up blinding himself with ink.

"I'll prescribe you a draught." You feel a bit of hope. Gaius must be a good physician, if he works in Camelot. Uther could have anyone in the world, after all. If Gaius can end your night terrors, you will make sure that he can go about with a gold ring on every finger.

"Thank you." You say. Gaius bows.

"If you have any ailments, my door is always open. Truly, feel free to walk down the stairs yourself." You laugh. He bows and leaves.

Camelot has some kindness at it's heart then. Obviously, it doesn't do much to the canker that is Uther Pendragon's hatred, but it may make living here bearable. Despite that you'll daily lie to these kind people.

Gwen comes in, and it's time to dress for the banquet-nothing too bright, it's at least a week until you can wear bright colors without disrespecting your parents. You are seized with a brief fit of longing for Merlin as Gwen ties your dark blue gown tight at the waist, because the only person you can think of that you would like to appreciate your figure is Merlin.

The banquet is an awful affair. Uther summoned no musicians to play, nor do jesters dance among you. Despite this the feast goes on a startling amount of time. This is a gluttonous court. You do not eat much.

The way Uther flinches away the empty seat on his left is too disturbing. You didn't expect the bane of your people to be human, and silently mourning his deceased son. That son was his only son, the son his wife died giving birth to. Who will rule this kingdom when he dies now, who will defend his lands?

Losing that boy must have broken Uther's heart.

Still, he would kill you in an instant if he knew some of the most fundamental parts of your existence. You make conversation, and sometimes there's that glimmer of approval. Gwen stands on the sidelines and fills your cup. Gaius stands on the sidelines as well, eying the knights who drink cup after cup of wine.

In their defense, the wine is excellent. You sip lightly.

This is the most uncomfortable banquet you've ever been at. It's worse than when you had to sit at King Lot's side and know that he was dying to paw at your waist, and that he was looking down your dress whenever you leaned near him. To his credit, Uther doesn't look at you like that once.

All the same, you flee the hall as soon as you can politely do so. Once you're in bed and undressed, and Gwen has left, you stare out your window at Camelot and wonder what Merlin is doing.

Probably sleeping. You lie down and close your eyes, reminding yourself that you have to be alert tomorrow to keep up the façade. You pray that Gaius's draught works.

That night you dream of arguments, Nimueh's lips parted in anger, and a man drowning.

A/N: That's right, I made Arthur die. I can't write Mergana with Arthur in existence, so he's dead. Fear the power of the author! As always, reviews bring faster updates :)