Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with BBC, Julian Murphy, Johnny Caps, etc (sadly). I do not own the characters in Merlin, I am using them under the fair use and/or transformative works clause of copyright law and receive not profit or material privilege from my use of them.

"Come in," Morgana looks up eagerly at the knock at her bedroom door, sure it is Merlin come to check up on her. It's late, and she hasn't seen him all day. For the better part of the afternoon, she's been sitting here, ruminating on Uther's words. Morgana feels very close to giving up; she's defied Uther all her life, it's a part of their relationship, and his threat shouldn't frighten her as much as it does. But Morgana can't help but wonder whether he really will force her to marriage: she can beat him by wile, but not by brute strength. And what's the point, anyway, of staying in Camelot, if Merlin doesn't love her? Is there any future for her in Camelot, with no claim to the throne and the only man she has ever loved not loving her?

Expecting to see Merlin's cheerful, comforting smile and bright blue eyes, she's shocked and disappointed by the man who enters the room. Cenred. His long dark hair is greasy and hangs about his face; he stinks of ale and mildew.

"My lady," Cenred's bow is mocking.

Morgana swallows, not glancing down at her white nightdress in all its clinging transparency. "I'd prefer not to see you alone. At night. In my chambers. Please leave me."

Cenred smiles. "Come now, Morgana, and after I paid the guards outside your door all that gold so they'd leave us alone?"

The threat is subtle, but it's there. Scream, and nobody will come running. Nobody's going to save you - everybody turns a blind eye for enough gold.

"What do you want?" Morgana asks. As Cenred steps further into the room, she turns so that she's standing in front of the door, an escape route just behind her.

"What else but you?" Cenred picks up the tiny bottle filled with an amber liquid, Morgana's sleep medicine, and reads the label in Gauis' scripted handwriting. "You don't sleep, my lady? Never mind. There are other things we can do at night, once we are married."

"I'd like to remind you that I am a lady of Camelot. And we are not married. You can't speak to me like this." Morgana hovers somewhere between panic and outrage.

Cenred is still circling the room, picking things up and fingering Morgana's possessions. His hand brushes the flowers Merlin brought for her, tears a bloom from the rest and crumbles it in his gloved palm. "I think you'll find that I can do most things that I want," he comments neutrally. "Anyway," He turns to her with an ugly smile, "I really came to tell you that none of your little tricks are going to work on me. So I wouldn't bother, if I were you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Morgana states coolly. Despite the calm tone in her voice, her heart is beating wildly. She steps backwards, touching the doorknob like a charm, finding a way out, if she needs it.

"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. Ban, Lot, Pellinore: you're doing it, but not alone. Who's helping you? Arthur? Your maid?" At her lack of response, he leans heavily against the table and pulls out a final suggestion, drawing it long and threatening in the air. "The servant boy the guard saw coming out of your room this morning?"

Morgana feigns boredom. "Leave them out of this, and maybe I won't knee you in a certain area."

Cenred laughs again, coming towards her and trying to put his arms around her neck, but she pushes him away, ducking under his arm which leaves her free, but no longer in a position ready for escape. Cenred remains before the door, blocking her way out. "Morgana, Morgana, Morgana. What I don't understand is why you're so against this. If you married me you'd be queen. Here you'll never be more than the king's ward. Wouldn't you like to be queen, Morgana?" he tempts.

Morgana lifts her chin, squaring her shoulders and leaning slightly against the table. Goddamit, she is not going to let him see the smallest hint of fear on her face. She is not. "Oh, I'd happily take your kingdom, Cenred. Just preferably without you in it."

"Ooh. Well. I regret to be the bearer of sad news, but I have to inform you that I'll be in a lot more than my kingdom when I wed you. I'm thinking - a spring wedding, wouldn't that be lovely? Do you think Uther would be agreeable? Or does he want to get rid of you sooner?"

"I will not go willingly, and if you force me to the altar I will fight you veil to shroud."

Cenred claps his hands. "Feisty. I like it. But, alas, I must leave you, my lady." Cenred comes close to her, hands on her hips, lips close to her ear. "Consider this a warning: do not imagine you can play with me. Don't even think that you are capable of that." He lets go of her as suddenly as he had grabbed her; this is fortunate for him, as Morgana had been readying herself to knee him. "Sleep well," Cenred sing songs as he disappears from her sight.

Morgana sinks down onto the bed, examining her shaking hands with a critical eye, then sinking her head between them. Another knock startles her, and she doesn't respond, certain that it is Cenred returning. I'll fight him altar to grave, she promises herself, but perhaps I really do have no choice. Morgana's heard of such things: girls with frothy white veils to hide tear streaked faces, gags stuffed down throats and heads contorted into forced nods. If it happened to them it could happen to her.

"Morgana?" Merlin's quiet voice makes her jump and she looks up to see him crossing the room, concern evident in his frown. "I saw Cenred leaving as I was coming up. Everything alright?"

She looks up at him, his kindness after Cenred's taunting making her eyes fill with unshed tears. She's tired of being strong, she's tired of being feisty, she's tired of being defiant. Morgana is done. The mute appeal in her upturned features makes Merlin's heart contract with worry.

"Did he hurt you?" Without thinking, Merlin sits beside her, cupping her face in one palm.

"No," Morgana whispers. "But we're done."

Merlin is confused. Done with what? With their relationship (which never started, he reminds himself hurriedly)? With their friendship? Then he realises she means with their plans. "What did he say to you? You can't just give up. We're three kings down!" Merlin exclaims, frustrated with the apparently causeless abandonment of her defiance.

"He didn't say anything to me," Morgana swipes at her eyes, feeling suddenly angry at Merlin for not understanding. "Or nothing I didn't know already." She stands and begins to pace.

"I don't know what you're trying to say," Merlin tells her.

"Oh, you have no idea do you? No idea what it's like to feel that you have no choices, that if you refuse a decree you'll be forced to it, gagged and veiled and trussed up ready for your husband to do what he will! You have no idea what it's like to be afraid that you have no future, afraid for your life and afraid for your freedom, you just don't get it!" Morgana becomes aware, suddenly, that she's shouting, standing in the middle of the room yelling at an increasingly anxious looking Merlin. She calms slightly, stilling herself. "You have no idea, what it's like to think that you'll never be anything more than an object to be lusted over. To be afraid that nobody will ever love you," she whispers.

Merlin's heart aches to tell her that she's so incredibly loved, that he loves her. But he feels certain that he's not the one she wants to love her. "You're in love with Cenred?" he asks slowly.

"No!" Morgana all but screams. "I hate the bloody man. But Uther's going to force me to marry whether I agree or not so let's just give up with this bloody plan because it's not going to bloody work!"

Merlin stands and Morgana's heart drops like a stone in her chest. Great. Now I've pushed him away, too. He's going to leave and not come back and then I really will be all alone. Tears of anger and self pity and helplessness spill down her face as she turns away, not wishing to see him walk out of the door. So she's surprised at the soft touch that lands on her back. Because he hasn't left. He's come to her, and he holds her very close and she sobs, on and on and gasping for breath until she can cry no more.

"Sit down," Merlin tells her gently, pulling her to the bed and tenderly helping her to sit, wrapping her tightly in the bedclothes. He reaches a tentative hand and strokes her face and Morgana wonders at the intimacy in the gesture, brief hope sparking in her hurting heart. Her hope fades as he draws away. Clearing his throat.

"This isn't the Morgana I know. She'd never give in to Uther's demands," he tells her sternly.

"Yeah, well, maybe I grew up," Morgana mumbles. She looks up and sighs. "No, you're right. I just feel so helpless..."

Merlin's glance at her is oddly intense. "I'm not giving up on you, Morgana. You shouldn't give up on yourself either."

Morgana shrugs, twisting the blankets as tight and as close as she can, for comfort. "Okay. Fine. Not giving up. I don't know how to get rid of the last two, though."

Merlin nods. "Let's start with what Gwen said: find their weaknesses, exploit them. Now, Olaf's weakness is his daughter." Merlin's businesslike turn brooks no argument and somewhat revives Morgana, who thinks hard.

"So, I need to show him that I won't make a good mother," she says slowly.

"Good. How do you do that?" Merlin prompts.

Morgana thinks. "I could...uh...get a small child, and drop it."

Merlin winces. "Bit dangerous. For the small child."

"Right." Morgana sighs and thinks again. "So, I could get a slightly less small child, and drop them? Less damage."

"But still too much damage," replies Merlin firmly.

"I...get an older child and...completely ignore them," Morgana is exhausted and running out of ideas. Then a thought strikes her. "No, wait! It's not children that are his weakness, it's just his child. I know what to do - I'll get Vivian's name wrong."

Simple, thinks Merlin, but perfect. It would hit Olaf's pressure point and hopefully drive him away. He smiles tenderly at her. "Anyone ever tell you you're brilliant?"

Morgana smiles a wry smile, "Not many, lately."

They are silent for a minute. Outside the window, the waning moon rises higher in the sky and at the sight of the diminishing orb Morgana feels a shiver of foreboding. Waning moons don't spell good things. Merlin has sunk down on the edge of her bed, his hand resting right beside her own, their skin as pale as the outside moon. Merlin has come to a decision about Cenred.

"Um," he begins, unsure about what she'll think of this, "When you asked me to help you, you said we should pretend we were, um, together. I think...I think that's what we need to do for Cenred. Pretend you and I are in love and that's why you can't marry him."

Morgana flinches internally at his use of the word 'pretend.' She says greedily, "Yes. Let's do that. We'll wait until after Olaf's gone and then..."

"Make a declaration?" Merlin finishes softly, catching her gaze the way she catches her lip between clenched teeth, the way torn skin grabs at fabric. Morgana lifts a hand to her hair, running her fingers through it, relieving the stomach clenching jolt of his glance.

"Merlin, I -" she begins, "I know I told you I wouldn't let Uther hurt you. But I can't promise that any, he's more...ruthless. Than I thought he would be, and I don't know what he'll do to you."

He starts speaking almost before she's finished. "It doesn't matter, I don't care." He doesn't think he'll be able to live much longer without hearing her say that she loves him, even if it's only pretend. Maybe he'll be able to get her out of his head if he can tell her that he loves her. Maybe.

"You'd put your life at risk to save me?" Morgana asks.

Yes, a million times, Merlin thinks, but makes his answer a little more diplomatic. "My life isn't worth more than yours, and you wouldn't have any life at all with Cenred. Sometimes you just need to do the right thing."

"And damn the consequences," whispers Morgana, an echo of something she'd said a long time before. About Merlin that time, too, she remembers. There are so many unspoken things in the quiet that follows; long golden strings of secrets burning up their throats and it's killing them from the inside. But they cannot speak these things, because they don't believe the other loves them. And maybe that's what happens to people who think that they are monsters; maybe they stop believing that anyone could love them, even when somebody does.

Merlin feels like he's going to fall apart if he doesn't speak just a little of this: this secret, that he loves her, it's killing him inside and he needs to hear it said, even if she's not going to believe him. "Maybe we should practice. What we're going to say to Cenred."

"Practice?" Morgana looks up at him helplessly, knowing with sudden clarity she will be completely unable to find the words to say what she feels for him. Some things have too much meaning to fit inside language. She licks her lips, pink tongue skimming bitten skin and leaving it glossed. She says, so quietly it is almost inaudible, "Merlin? After we've said...everything to Cenred. Will you kiss me? It'll be...more convincing."

"Convincing," Merlin echoes curiously. For a moment after her suggestion he feels sudden hope that maybe she cares for him too. Why else would she ask him to kiss her? To get rid of Cenred, he answers himself. For her, not for us. And he can live without saying 'I love you' if he can lip-spell it instead. "Of course I will. Maybe we should - maybe we should practice that bit. The kiss."

"Yes," Morgana replies, and without hesitation or stammering movement she reaches for him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling his head down to meet hers. The slant of their heads mimics the slant of the moonlight, tilted heads twisted so lips can meet gently, sending feeling all down through their nerve endings. It's the most beautiful thing, the kind of beautiful that looks the way love would look, if you could see it: perfect, too powerful and too bright and too brilliant to look at straight on, lest your eyes burn up, like looking at the sun. His fingers reach through her hair, cradling her skull in one hand. Her hands bead like dewdrops through his, grasping tightly onto the long ebony twists, holding him close.

Then he lets her go.

"No -" Morgana reaches out, trying to stop him, but he's already sitting back, not looking at her.

Merlin can't trust himself to kiss her any longer, such gentle calm brilliance, can't trust that he won't push her back against the pillows and find her soft neck with his tongue and slide his hands across her, and she wouldn't want that. It's meant to be a practice, the way you dip your lips against your best friend's so you know how to do it when it's really time. But it doesn't feel like a game anymore.

They're playing with things they don't fully understand. Freedom. Life. Force. Love. It's going to tear them apart, before they're done.

Morgana breathes heavily, telling herself not to demean herself by begging for him. He pities you, she thinks, he pities you, you're too needy, he didn't want to kiss you in the first place. Let him go.

"I should -" Merlin gestures to the door, and stands up. Morgana nods without looking, fingers twisting in her blankets. When the door shuts behind him, it hurts just as much as she thought it would.