A/N So, this is a bit of an experiment and so frank and fearless feedback is welcome. It's kind of a 'previously' from a TV show or, more accurately, a kind of quick cut of images from the story so far. Think of the beginning of the Season 5 finale of Buffy. Does it work? Is it boring, confusing? Let me know.

There are images that come unbidden after dark. How does the mind replay the path that led you to this place?

Of all the memories she has, there is this one that her mind replays.

Merlin accuses Bayard of lacing Arthur's goblet with poison and drinks the liquid to save his master's life.

She sees the boy run in, sees him raise his arm to salute the Prince, sees him gulp down the toxic fluid. She admires his loyalty, his bravery, his temerity. But she does not ask herself whether she has these qualities within... not until now.

She looked out into the darkness beyond her window, trying to gauge the time since she had fallen asleep; since Merlin had left her chambers.

"I'm glad you're back," he'd said and he had meant it. She'd looked into his eyes and seen nothing but genuine concern; despite who she was, what she was. Despite even the stubborn decision that had led to so many deaths.

"I'm glad you're back."

With those words, she had looked anew and seen an anchor in a high tide, a port in a violent storm.

"Did you know Merlin tried to free you by confessing to sorcery?" she asked her maid. Guinevere was sitting on the ground in the cell; her simple brown dress stained with the dirt that the guards could never be bothered cleaning.

Gwen smiled sadly; only slightly cheered by the news.

"I think he must really care for you to do something like that," Morgana said.

Her maid shook her head.

"Merlin would do something like that for anybody."

"If you say so," she replied, but she thought that Gwen was too modest. What else but love could motivate such sacrifice?

"I never got the chance to thank you for helping to rescue Gwen. Arthur is a trained Knight and it was his duty but you didn't have to go."

He paused, seeming to marshal his thoughts.

"Thank you, Milady, but... it was my duty. I'm Arthur's servant as he is Camelot's. Even if I hadn't wanted to rescue Gwen... which I did, by the way, of course I did but... I would still have been by his side. It's my duty to him as his is to Camelot."

"I'm still grateful," she said with a nod, "there are many servants who would see all you do as far and beyond the duty of a manservant".

"Merlin said something to me the other day about you being a servant to Camelot," she said to his tense back.

"Your voice is no longer heard and you are forced to do tasks you would not choose. Maybe he was right. And maybe you need to ask yourself who your master really is."

"You do realise that if you fail, Arthur will be dead."

"I won't fail," he said seriously.

She found herself appraising him; every clumsy, lanky, amazing inch of him.

"You really will do anything for anybody, won't you?"

"If they're a friend and they need me. Yes."

"What if you don't choose magic? What if magic chooses you?"

And he'd looked at her as though he knew.

She couldn't understand it. He was tall, true, and that smile could light up the entire Kingdom. But he was lanky with that funny angular face and big ears. The black mop of hair on his head was badly cut and his clothes hung off his gangly form as though they were hand-me-downs from someone who ate more... or ate at all.

But he was always there for her; attentive and kind. He was the one she could rely on. And then there was the way his pearl-white skin had glowed by moonlight... and those eyes... those beautiful, deep-blue eyes. That must be it, she thought, it's the eyes.

She had sat silent while Merlin accused Aeridian of deceit. She saw him walk in, his blue eyes flashing with his loyalty, his bravery, his temerity. He may as well have drunk from the poisoned goblet, may as well have placed his head upon the chopping block and laughed at the axeman, because a capricious King could ignore him completely and put him to death just for fighting back. He did it for her just as he had promised and she has never had someone do something so noble and so selfless in her name before...

And she hates this sudden doubt. She has always strived to treat servants as worthy people but has still believed in her core that noble birth made people better.

There is a memory she has that a servant was once a better man than a King. He drank from the poisoned goblet risking death but somehow gained life instead.

The problem with Merlin was that he was Merlin. And there was simply nothing she could do about it.

"I can tell you one thing, my Lady Morgana, and it is something that I believe will interest you. Something I think you should know."

She turned back, puzzled by the strangely inscrutable look in his face.

"What happened... well... I cannot tell you. But I can say that after Arthur there is only one man I admire."

"What do you mean?" she asked, more curious now than angry.

"Merlin, My Lady. I think that, if not for his birth, he would be a man I would be proud to call a friend. A man who embodies more of the qualities admired in a Knight than many of the noblemen I have served with. But he was born a peasant, unfortunately. But I think... I think I am not the only one who wishes that the world we live in could be... different."

He walked up to her and took her hands again. "The world is unfortunately as it is and we cannot change it. He is a servant. We are nobility. That is the way it is. But still," he smiled at her; one sweet smile, "it would be nice. Both for us and, I think, for him. I think."

It had been like this since Morgause had lured Arthur away and returned him even more determined to follow in his father's footsteps. He and Uther were closer than they had ever been and the executions had gotten more frequent and more unfair.

She thought about what Merlin had said. There were sorcerers in Camelot; hidden and safe and able to protect themselves should Uther ever discover them. That made her even more convinced that the people burned and hung and beheaded and beaten and imprisoned and tortured were either innocent or so powerless as to be no threat.

"That's because you're not like Merlin," she'd said; purely trying to manipulate him into helping kill the creature that plagued them. "He's a lover."

The remains of Arthur's leftover breakfast were strewn messily across the table, the Afanc was in the water supply, and Gwen was in prison.

"Poor Merlin," she'd said, "offering to give up his life for Gwen's. I certainly can't imagine anyone loving me like that."

Everything that she had convinced herself to be true was a lie; everything she had thought about her life was false. Merlin did not care about her; did not love her.

His small acts of service, his support and friendship, his concern for her wellbeing, they were all just a job, a duty; things he felt he should do. And she, like an idiot, had built their relationship in her own head to something bigger, something grander; the delusion of a great forbidden love in a hostile world.

To think it was less than a day since she had called Arthur a fool.

She fought a battle with her mind but could not stop it relaying the images, the conversation. Merlin planning to leave Camelot. The kiss; as sweet and soft and pure as she had long imagined theirs would be. It was all just so Merlin. Damn him.

She was the Lady Morgana, the First woman of the Kingdom and its most beautiful. Men were lined up to worship her. How dare a servant, a skinny, gangly, big-eared, funny-faced servant prefer another to her? How could it be possible that he would even notice another woman when she was in his world? It was preposterous. It was unthinkable.

What had the girl said? "You keep doing all this for me. I don't deserve it."

It had stuck in Morgana's head because it sounded so much like Merlin and because she couldn't imagine at any stage thinking that she didn't deserve the things that Merlin did. She always thought she deserved everything she got.

She walked up to him, drew her arm back and slapped him hard across his face, leaving a red palm mark on his cheek. Then she moved forward and slid her arms around him.

"I'm so sorry," she said, finally. "I saw her. I saw you. I know. I know everything. And I'm so angry. And I'm so sorry."

He stood stiff in her arms for a moment as her words sunk in. Then he collapsed suddenly against her shoulder; the tears pouring down his face as he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist.

She slid down the wall and leant against it; his head lowering to her lap. She sat there with him, his grief pouring out of him, and knew the joy that came from being in service to one you love.

"So, what are you saying, Gaius? That I shouldn't throw away my comfortable life in search of... what? Happiness, satisfaction, control... love? What if I'm not happy? What if I feel as though my great comfortable life is a prison? What if I had an opportunity to gain happiness?

"Are you saying that your sister would have been better off ignoring her feelings just because things did not turn out well for her? That it would have been better for to keep her life of privilege and not take a chance on happiness, a chance on love?"

"I'm saying, my dear, that sometimes the pursuit of happiness is not enough. Sometimes love is not enough. Sometimes people have to consider the kind of life they want to live; the things they would have to give up and whether they would still be happy when the... tyranny of the mundane... takes over their life."

She put her head on his shoulder.

"I don't know how you do that," she sighed, using her spare hand to refill her goblet.

"Do what?"

"Make these sacrifices. Drink the poison. I don't think I could do that. Not for Camelot, not for anyone, even if I cared about them. I'm too much of a coward. I want too much to live."

"You stand up to Uther," he whispered, "that counts for something."

"I didn't stand up to him when Gaius was being dragged away by Aeridian. I didn't stand up to him then. You did. I thought it then."

"Thought what?"

"I want to be brave like you. I want to be brave enough to drink the poison."

"I love you. I genuinely love you."

He opened his mouth to speak and she gestured for him to let her finish.

"I don't love your magic or your power. I loved you before I knew you were a warlock. I loved you from the minute you came to me after the Druids to see if I was alright. You were willing to sacrifice yourself for me; you're always willing to endanger yourself for the people you love. I don't know anyone as brave or as caring or as wonderful as you."

She gave a hopeless gesture and continued.

"And you're right, we're not equals. We can't be. But not because I'm a noblewoman and you're a peasant. We're not equals because I love you, Merlin. I love you, so I am the one in servitude to you. I am the servant here and it is you who have all the power."

"I can take care of myself, Merlin. I am not one of your... damsels in distress... who needs you to protect them. And I would appreciate it a great deal if you would stop leaving gifts in my room. Such objects of affection are hardly appropriate under the circumstances."

"I'm sorry, Milady, I wanted only to be of service."

"Well then, serve the inadequate masters you have chosen over the lives of innocents," she seethed. "Leave me out of it.

He paused, his face hardening as his voice dropped back to a whisper.

"This is the real reason why I could never love you."

And he stormed out of her chambers, leaving her to dissolve into the tears she had not shed in many years.

I have a sister. An amazing magical sister. And a nephew. I have a family away from this madness, away from Uther.

"I'm sorry but I have a greater obligation that I need to consider. And maybe..."

At that she did lose her temper.

"And maybe you should stop putting Arthur's needs before everybody else's," she snapped. "This is all I have heard all my life: that there is someone or something more important than me. My own father even died for Uther and he left me here alone. Merlin, why can't you... and Arthur... and even Uther... put my needs first just for once?"

"The Knights of Medhir," she explained," do not be worried, at the moment they are harmless."

"But what are they?" asked Morgana, curiosity overcoming her fear.

"There is a legend that tells of a sorcerer almost three hundred years ago who used magic to call Knights from Camelot and ensorcelled them to do her will. The legend says that, when she was killed, the seven Knights of Medhir returned here and became still. It says they will remain so until the fires of Idirsholas burn again."

"Is it a legend," asked Morgana, "or is it what really happened?"

"Like most legends, it is both true and not true. The Knights were dissatisfied with the rule of their King and volunteered to help the sorcerer rid the land of his power. When the King was overthrown, the sorcerer returned here with the Knights. I told you time moves differently here for all of us. The sorcerer trapped each Knight in time so they could rise again if they were needed. Then she made the journey to Avalon; her work here done."

"So these Knights..."

"...can be roused to rid the land of an unpopular King," confirmed Morgause. "If one knows how, which I do not. As yet."

Morgana opened her eyes. Another night without sleep. Something must be done. Something had to change. Dead children, dead innocents, imprisonment and torture and no place for her in the world she had been given. Her hatred of Uther was all she had left. And she would do something about it. And soon.