A/N: Thank you again for reading and commenting! Now, a brief glimpse of Merlin's point of view, a quite another level of angst.

.

In the Lake

. . .

Get away from me. Her words sting still, though he's been bitten worse before.

Merlin is running through the mossy woods looking for the tracks she's made. Rips of cloth that bound her litter the ground. Morgana is nowhere in to be seen. He just stops, and waits. Behind his closed lids, he can still feel her essence - the magic of her being, just barely out of sight - pumping away... with fear.

He was prepared for some resistance from her side, but the half-formed plan he'd presented her scared her completely out of her wits, awakened her will for survival. Her magic, no longer dormant, received a new surge, while his own lay crippled by remorse and doubt. Can he do that to another being? To weed out memories, erase a part of their life, the part that had come to define them, even if that part had become dark and embittered, to stop the disease from spreading further? Moreso, without their consent?

At a long last he finds Morgana on a riverbank, grim as a statue, words of magic forming on her lips. Her eyes glow gold and a teleportation spell starts gathering momentum, the dust and branches whirling around.

He launches forward - there is no time to think.

Onslæp nu, he whispers and watches Morgana go limp in his arms, for the second or third time already, or fourth... He's lost count by now. It's as if their shared Destiny has so strong of a will in itself that it keeps pushing him, wanting Morgana Pendragon dead, regardless of what Merlin might do or wish.

He won't bother to wipe tears from his face, she's not there to mock him for the display of emotion she so fondly calls weakness. He needs to talk to someone right now, to ask for advice, but he already knows what Kilgharrah would tell him to do.

That is easy, young warlock. You must kill her.

"I know," he whimpers through his tears. But he won't do it. For it's all that's left of his humanity and hers.

Morgana lies, slumbering, dark and deathly beautiful in his arms. Letting out another shaky breath, he forces himself to be calm. He can find another way.

It would be better if the Witch never knew the true extent of her powers.

It can still be this way, and though he knows she resents the idea above all else, it will be done with the best of intentions. He could swipe her mind and she will begin anew - without those damned deaths weighing down her soul. Indeed, it's a courtesy he'd gladly extend to himself, if not for his responsibilities, his promise to Albion.

It's all up to him. As always.

And what about me, what about my Destiny? Morgana's voice chimes in his mind, so familiar, so easy to predict, a tune so much repeated it is foolish to expect it to change. And that's why he does it.

He does it because he has to.

With a heavy heart, he carries her to the embankment. It's a clear lake with greenish blue waters from the springs, making it untouchable, so cold and beautiful. He wades in it til the waters are up to his waist. He releases his burden, and she's floating on the surface, like a leaf fallen from a tree. Waves wash her, untangle her hair, erase the darkness from her kohl-rimmed eyes. Merlin watches her, floating further, away, where the water is deeper and he can't follow.

In a safe distance, he begins the incantation, a curse to act as a blessing, to bestow an artifice peace for her soul. His heart aches as he erases her, even for this twisted version of her. The irony is, she won't even know.

"...þin licsare," he completes the spell, releasing her to the water. The waves crash around her, and something black is sinking.

With a loud gasp, Morgana comes to senses as the water starts filling her lungs. Her dress tangles around her feet into a net of lace and strings, and Merlin realizes with a stab of shock she's too disoriented to swim to the shoe. Afraid that she won't make it, he dismisses the plan to leave her to her own and plunges again into the waters, advancing fast with long strong-armed thrusts. Her voice is small, without a clue what is happening, and the waves smother any cries for help.

He reaches her, just barely, before she's sinking to the depths. A spell cuts the ropes that inhibit her flight. She emerges anew, coughing and spluttering, to the surface.

With an arm around her they swim towards the shore, holding her carefully, for she's only partly dressed. Heavy and wet from the lake, they crawl on the stony ground.

Morgana shivers and coughs, clearly a shock. He sits down close to her, waiting as she regains her breath. Her shift clings to her body and she brings up her knees, covering herself in some attempt at modesty.

"Thank you, ..." she stops and waits, as though she should remember his name.

"Merlin," he says, careful not to face her. Not to betray his guilt or disrupt the spell and accidentally remind her. He doubts she'd get over her anger if she did.

"Where - How did that happen?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

The silence that follows is almost predictable.

Her pale green eyes fill with familiar alarm. One of returning to your home and finding no one there. Nothing. Not a thing to tell about herself. Merlin tries to comfort her, reaching for her shoulders. They are icy cold, like the lake itself. He takes her cloak from the ground and wraps it around her.

"It's alright now. See, I think I've found your clothes. I saw bandits in these woods, perhaps you tried to run from them."

It's a lousy lie, for he did not plan to offer any. Planned to watch from afar. With an apprehensive glance, she assesses her body. Her wrists and legs have marks on them. "I suppose it could be true."

Why so guilty? Always so guilty...

He coughs a little, blocking out her voice from his head, before it can betray him. Guilty? She can't even begin understand... He has to pretend not to know her.

"What's your name?"

"M- Morgana," she utters with difficulty.

In her silky green underdress she looks like a water nymph, or as close as they come to exist. Flushed and pure, in her ageless youth, she appears nothing short of a demi-goddess, and, before he can handle it, his face forms into a slack-jawed look of awe.

"Why are you looking me like that?"

"I'm sorry, it's just you..." He swallows, looking away. "You remind me of someone."

"Who?" she asks, reading the pained lines on his face like one would with a book.

"Someone I once knew, she's lost in the lake."

Morgana falters, but her gaze is warm. So many hears have passed since he last saw that look.

"You saved my life now, doesn't that mean something?"

He smiles at her, but it only breaks him further. He wants to be far away, wants to hide - from her, from the world...to forget his shame. But her eyes look familiar again-

"It does."

Morgana starts walking in the direction of... somewhere, in the footsteps of the man who had rescued her, her one and only clue. Who is she? Where did she come from? Where are they going to? And more importantly, why does this man - Merlin - seem so familiar. Closer even than simply a friend. But whenever she tries to remember a heavy headache explodes in her head.

So she settles to simply studying the young man, remembering the way he had dived into the waters and pulled her from that lake. Strong arms and a lanky body, and those intense blue eyes, wide and watery, so conviincingly demanding her trust.

Morgana shudders and coughs still, tasting the bitter waters in her lungs. Her cloak is warm and lined with velvet, soft against her skin, her drying hair, and he caught him looking at her before she wrapped it on her shoulders, while now - fully clad - he mysteriously refuses to look at her.

"We must be here," Merlin prompts, ending the silence.

The cabin is small, something of a hut. Morgana can't remember much of before. Perhaps it's the shock of her almost drowning, but refusal and disappointment hangs in the air.

"Are you sure that this is were I live?" she asks, as they enter a hut too small to call her home.

Somehow, she'd expected to be someone of importance, perhaps of noble birth, guessed it by the way she carried herself, the way words formed on her lips. But the sight that opened was not one of homeliness, it belonged to more like someone in hiding. A witch perhaps.

Her eyes follow the chains, the dried plants hung the wall. Witchbane, valerian, aconite, chamomile, poppies... She looks at him sharply. Something forbidden hangs on her tongue.

"Who would gather herbs like this?"

He does not look scared nor concerned by the implication.

"A healer woman."

"Is that truly what you think I am?"

He straightens then, righteousness lighting his eyes.

"Yes and a good one. Someone with the power to help others. Magic is a gift, not a curse. But you must remain careful and... stay away from Camelot."

"Is that where you come from?" She smiles, sadly. He does as well, even more enigmatically.

"King Arthur Pendragon is not like his father, but magic is still banned in his land. Trust me, I won't tell a soul, but you can't risk to go there... not until things have changed. Don't be disappointed. Time will come when you can join me and others to use your gifts for the common good."

Morgana looks up at him with admiration and awe. Such strange day, such fortunate meetings. Merlin is unable to hold her gaze.

"I have to go home..." He stammers a bit. "My friends must all be worried by now."

"Will you come visit me?"

He shrugs, grappling for words. How sharp and determined, yet so gentle and shy he is. In one quick swoop, she leans in, pressing her lips to his flat cheek, slightly rough from small stubble. A kiss of gratitude, for she'd settle on nothing less.

Blushing furiously, he looks so lost and regretful that it breaks her heart a little. "I will, Morgana. Know there's goodness in your heart, don't ever let it change."

He starts for the door, so happy he almost forgets. "And, always wear this bracelet. It protects you from... harm."

She looks at the magical gift in her hands. It's intricate and beautiful, carvings in silver.

"Thank you."

He's retreating fast, so she calls out, "Merlin." He stops with a smile, not quite reaching his eyes. "You're a good friend."

A myriad of emotions flicker over his face.

With one more look back, and a nod, Merlin disappears through the door.

A/N: This chapter grew massive in my hands, so I spilt it into two for the sake of the editing and to keep the format. The rest will be posted soon, again from Morgana's perspective. Also, cookies for a little paraphrase of Gaugin, if you noticed.