A/N: A thank-you to Mnem, because I was hitting a wall with where to take this, and a quick brainstorming session with her helped me figure it out. :)


I'm tired of fighting, she said
Your words just rattle my head
All joy escapes in the dark
And I can't make this make sense
- "The Verb," The Swell Season


Morgana.

She's out in the fields gathering roots and herbs when she hears his voice in her head.

There's someone here to see you.

Standing up, brushing the dirt from her knees, and gathering her basket, she winds her way through the forest back to camp. She tries unsuccessfully to keep a smile from her face, tells herself it's silly to be this excited to see him.

But when she returns to the Druid camp, Merlin's nowhere to be found.

Mordred sits by a fire across the clearing, whittling a small piece of wood into a stallion. Next to him sit a young boy and a burly knight of Camelot. She strolls over to them.

"Mordred, what's going on?" she queries.

He gestures to his companions. "They wanted to see you."

Only after she takes a good look at the boy does she realize who he is.

"Harry," she greets in surprise, squatting down before him. "How are you?" His face is pale, and his small hands are shaking. She reaches out and grasps his fists in hers. "Harry, what's wrong?"

"Please, my lady," he says, "he told me to deliver the message only to you."

"Who did?"

"Merlin."

Morgana's breath catches in her throat, and she looks to the knight for confirmation. He nods, and she gently helps Harry to his feet.

"Let's take a walk then," she suggests mildly. "What did Merlin say?"

Once they're away from the camp, Harry looks up at her and says, "There's to be an attack, ordered by the king."

Morgana stops walking and drops to her knees, eyelevel, in front of him. "I don't understand."

Harry rubs at his forehead, trying to remember Merlin's precise words. "The prince is to wipe out the Druid encampments, to take no prisoners."

"The king has ordered this?"

The boy nods. "But Merlin says that he will keep the prince from this camp. That's what he wanted me to tell you. You'll be safe, my lady."

Morgana drops her head and lets out a slow breath.

A raid.

Even if Merlin has managed to keep her particular camp out of Uther's grasp, she can't ignore the fact that people – her people – are going to perish this day.

She leans forward and slides a hand against Harry's cheek. "Thank you, Harry. You've been invaluable. But you need to return to Camelot. It's safer for you."

"Yes, my lady," he nods dutifully.

She leads him back to camp, and he and the knight leave for town again. After she watches them around a bend in the path, Morgana strides to Regulus's tent. He's outside, sitting on a tree stump and mending his boot.

He glances up when she appears before him, but doesn't say anything.

"We need to gather the able-bodied men and women," she announces.

Regulus pauses in his work. "What's happened?"

"There's to be an attack. On the other Druid encampments."

"Can you be sure?"

"Merlin's sent me word."

Standing, he nods and says somberly, "I'll call a gathering."


By the end of the afternoon, they're able to gather about a dozen men and women willing to go to their brothers' aid.

Regulus clears his throat, and Morgana shifts in her saddle to see Mordred at the edge of the clearing, walking toward them and clasping a belt and scabbard around his small waist. She slides off her horse with a sigh and meets him halfway.

"Mordred, what are you doing?"

"I'm going with you. I want to fight," he beseeches, looking up at her with that penetrating gaze of his.

She curses how easily he can win her over. But a battle is no place for a boy, and as often as she's given in to his wishes in the past, she can't give in today.

A frown furrowing her brow, she shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Mordred." When he opens his mouth to object, she kneels down and cups his cheek. "I understand why you want to fight, but there will a time for that. There will be another battle. For now, we need you to help protect those who must stay behind. Can you do that?"

Solemnly, he nods.

"Good," Morgana smiles. "Thank you. Do what you must to keep them safe. We will return as soon as we're able."

Mordred nods again, and there's a steely determination in his young jaw. She presses a quick kiss to his forehead before she rises and rejoins the party. As they ride off, Regulus in the lead, Morgana throws a glance over her shoulder. He's watching them forlornly, sadness heavy in his shoulders.

She remembers all those times being left in the castle, left to wait while Arthur and Merlin saved the day. As she sat idly in her chambers, that feeling of uselessness would eat at her, would snake under her skin, would push her alarmingly near the edge of madness. She loathes doing that same thing to Mordred, but what choice does she have? She cannot allow him to fight. He's so young, the knights of Camelot so ruthless. He would never survive, even with his extraordinary abilities.

And so she turns away from his dejected expression, taking comfort in her decision. He may be angry, may be upset with her, but at least he will live to see another day.


Morgana lets out a grunt as she pulls her sword from a knight's torso and kicks him to the ground. Panting, she spins to confront another knight coming towards her. Regulus had taken a handful to the third camp while she and five others are trying desperately to hold ground here. Uther's sent close to three dozen knights. They're relentless in their attack, and the worst thing is that she knows most of them. She recognizes their movements, their voices, their boyish faces with the bursts of peach growth on their chins.

It's not until the clearing is thick with soldiers and the skirmish is violent in intensity that she distinguishes Merlin through it all. Dressed in a chainmail tunic, he's on the outskirts of the camp, his arm outstretched and his eyes narrowed in concentration. A druid woman, native to this camp and unknown to her, appears behind him. Before Morgana can warn him, before he can sense his attacker, the woman raises her staff and lands a blow across his shoulders.

Merlin falls forward onto his hands and knees, the breath knocked from his lungs. Everyone else forgotten, Morgana sprints toward him. In a flash, she's willing to turn on her own in order to protect the missing piece of her heart. She's so preoccupied by him that she fails to see the other figure running into the fray. The moment she lifts her weapon to parry the druid woman's staff, her sword clashes with another, and she looks up into the face of her foster brother.

His eyes dark, Arthur knocks Merlin's attacker unconscious with the butt of his sword. The woman collapses onto the ground, and Arthur offers his friend a hand. Morgana stares at the two, hardly daring to believe they could have orchestrated such destruction and pain.

His expression hard and unreadable, Arthur gazes back at her before calling to his men, "Hold!"

The knights of Camelot lower their weapons, reluctantly stopping the fight. The druids, surprised and regarding their attackers warily, nevertheless stay their weapons as well. Morgana, brushing back the locks of hair that have fallen loose, looks around. The tents are in ruin, the water basins and other structures smashed to bits, the wooden shards lying amongst the leaves like a discarded puzzle.

How many lives have been destroyed this day?

Gawain approaches Arthur. Quietly he says, "But, sire, your father –"

"I know what the king said," Arthur snaps as he sheathes his sword. Gazing around, he argues, "But we've scared them enough. They won't cause any trouble. Let's leave them to pick up the pieces."

He turns his back and strides angrily away from the encampment. Morgana watches him go, but Merlin won't tear his eyes from her.

Jaw flexing in fury, she turns to him and, her voice dangerously low, says, "I will never forgive you for this."

He calls after her as she sweeps away, but she ignores him as his voice swirls into the wind.


He comes the next night, appears at the fireside like nothing's wrong. Regulus welcomes him like a brother, and they exchange words of regret and promise. No one here blames Merlin. After all, Merlin's the one who warned them about the attacks.

But she knows him. She knows that he could have stopped them all together if he'd wanted to.

Why didn't he want to?

He squats down in front of her, but she disregards him pointedly, keeping her eyes on the fire. Sliding his hands onto her knees, he leans forward and says quietly, "Morgana."

She shoves his hands off. "Go away, Merlin."

"Please, will you just let me explain?"

She's about to protest once more when Regulus speaks up. "Perhaps you should listen to the boy, Morgana," he says calmly.

As disappointed as she is in him right now, she respects Regulus. She respects his judgment, his opinions. He's taken care of her for close to two years now. He wouldn't steer her wrong.

Without a word, she rises and walks off behind the tents and into the woods. Merlin follows, and once they're out of earshot of the rest of the camp, she rounds on him.

"Understand something, Merlin. You no longer have the right to just show up here whenever you feel like it."

He's quiet, standing before her in scrapes of moonlight. "I needed to explain," he says. "You can at least give me that."

"Why should I, Merlin? Why should I listen to you anymore?"

"Because you're not being fair! Do you think we wanted this to happen? Arthur and I did what we could to keep you out of it, but we can't protect everyone."

"These are people like me, Merlin. People like you! Does that no longer matter?"

"It would be a death sentence for Arthur to go against his father! We did the best we could!"

"Are you so cowardly that you will turn against your own?"

"This is not a question of sides, Morgana!"

They've never shouted at each other like this before; she's never seen him so livid. This is what life has made of them, but instead of uselessly railing at the heavens, she does what's in her power, even if all she can do is yell until there's no more breath left in her lungs.

There comes a time when words prove fruitless, when she won't listen to his rational arguments and when he's tired of trying to make himself heard over her shouts. Her frustration dissolves into snatches of incoherency, and when she can no longer make herself understood, she takes to beating at his chest with her fists. Merlin takes the abuse stoically, letting her rain blows upon him until he finally reaches around her and pulls her tight against him. She struggles to get away, but he holds her fast and she has no option but to submit.

Collapsing against him, Morgana refuses to let loose the sobs she feels snaking their way to the surface. Whatever she does, however much pain she feels, she will not cry.

What comes out instead is more of a strangled cough.

Locked in their awkward embrace, she and Merlin sink to their knees.

"Shh," he murmurs, stroking her hair.

She wants to push him away, to reclaim her grief as her own, but her strength has fled and she finds herself sinking into his arms.

Eventually, she regains enough breath to choke out, "I cannot go back. I will die before I go back."

Merlin pulls back to look at her, his eyes clouded with concern. He runs his thumb gently across her cheek. "Don't say that," he pleads. "Please, Morgana, you don't mean that."

"But it's true. This is the kind of person Uther is. He tears apart lives, makes innocent people follow him out of fear. How do you expect me to return to a life like that?"

He presses a desperate kiss to her lips. "Fine," he breathes softly. "Stay if you must. I understand." His eyes blazing with emotion, he adds, "But it will not always be like this. When Arthur's on the throne, this will all change. You'll see."

"Arthur follows in his father's footsteps," she argues quietly.

"No," he protests with a shake of his head. "I promise that he doesn't. Trust me, Morgana. The world will be a different place, better, when Arthur is king."

The way he holds so fast to his idealistic worldview, more than his lofty words, draws a tentative smile from her.

"And the persecution will stop?" she queries.

"They will," he assures her, sliding his fingers into her hair and pulling her towards him.

Resting her forehead against his, she murmurs, "Then when Arthur is king, when magic is no longer threatened, I will come home to you."

He swallows. "I will hold you to your word."

"And I to yours."

Merlin brushes a gentle kiss across her lips. "Hold me to it," he breathes. "I promise you, magic will find its place, as will we."