Another's Favor by ebhg

Rating: T

Pairings: Merthian/Arwen

Spoilers: Series 1-4 and up to episode 4 of Series 5.

Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to BBC.

A/N: Thanks again for all the fabulous reviews! A bit of a change of pace in this slightly shorter chapter, but I hope you'll still enjoy it. By the way, I am a *firm* believer in happy endings. ;)


New Allies

To the witch trapped in the Tomb of Kings, the earth still seemed as though it was shaking. Yet in reality it had been still for many hours. In the oppressive darkness of the thick dust and unstable and still falling rock, Morgana Pendragon could see nothing. There was a deep rumbling as the walls of the tomb around her continued to shift and groan. Dust was thick in the air, choking her and leaving her breathless. As she struggled to move from her prone position, more and more pebbles and stones fell on her, bruising her already marked skin.

Raising a hand in front of her, Morgana tried to clear the air. She tried again and again to draw on her magic, but time and again, nothing happened. The walls seemed to be closing in on her, caging her.

"Help me!" Morgana called into the hazy cloud. It was thick and choking, obscuring even the smallest details. The high priestess reached again for her magic, yet found nothing. Suddenly in the mist before her, an old man materialized, half obscured by the haze. But this man was all too familiar, dressed in robes of Camelot red.

"Emrys!" Morgana growled, throwing her hand forward when the old man smirked at her and threw her back into the wall. When Morgana looked up at the old man from the ground, his features began to smooth and his hair darkened. There was a strange sort of familiarity to this still morphing figure; Morgana struggled to see through the gloom. She leaned forward, squinting to try and see who the changed man was.

Just as she was on the cusp of recognition, Morgana woke with a startled gasp and blinked in the eerie gloom. Desperately, she tried to hold onto the strands of her dream, knowing that it had been important, but unable to keep a hold of the details. Moaning as she tried to sit up, Morgana winced at the pounding of her head at the movement. The witch paused, breathing deeply, then eased herself into a sitting position. Blinking back the dust in her eyes and looking around her at the oppressive gloom, Morgana was suddenly and forcefully reminded of the pit that had imprisoned her for two years.

For a moment, Morgana forgot where she was and what she had been doing for the last week. There was still a lingering sense of impending doom from her dream, and the anxiousness increased with her inability to remember what she had seen. Looking desperately around her and seeing nothing but darkness, her mind took her straight back to her captivity. The lack of Aithusa's constant presence had the witch panicking, her heart pounding and her breaths coming in quick, jerky gasps. Morgana cried out and sobbed as the thick, dusty air choked her, filling her lungs and making her throat burn. Coughing nearly enough to make her retch, Morgana soon found herself on her hands and knees.

Under her fingers, she felt not the smooth stones of Sarrum's pit, but rather dirt and gravel. Rough, freshly broken stones lay around her, cutting into her hands and knees as she tried to stand. Morgana's back smarted as she straightened; that was when she remembered being thrown into the wall.

A few tentative steps forward brought her to the sepulcher within the Tomb of Kings in Nemeth. Both exits to the burial vault were blocked by stone, the faint light coming from the cracks in the high ceiling caused by the tremor. Morgana sighed wearily in frustration and leaned heavily upon the stone box, her mind flashing with everything that had happened.

Arthur had been in her grasp, on his knees, at her mercy. Odin only had to bring his sword down to separate the magic-hating king's head from his shoulders. Then the ground had shaken, taking away her imminent victory. Arthur and his peasant knight had escaped with Rodor and Mithian. Inexplicably, Merlin had been there to save Arthur's neck once again and lead the pathetic royals to safety. How that meddlesome fool had recovered from a high priestess' attack, Morgana didn't know. With any luck, Odin had run both Arthur and Merlin down and finished the interrupted execution.

It didn't seem fair, Morgana mused petulantly. She was a High Priestess of The Old Religion, yet time and time again, Arthur and his ragtag collection of peasant-knights managed to thwart her best laid plans. The quake had been yet another example of Arthur's extraordinary and unbelievable luck-

Morgana froze mid-thought and cursed to herself at the tremor's sudden, unlikely timing. Unless Fate hated her and favored Arthur, there was something else at play in her interactions with her half-brother. Morgana growled in frustration at her realization. Reaching out with her mind, Morgana confirmed it.

It hadn't been a natural quake at all; Fate was not such a bitter shrew. The very air tingled with a lingering trace of such powerful magic that Morgana nearly gasped at the feel of it. It was the same touch of magic that had thrown her into the wall and nearly brought the ceiling down upon her. The witch counted herself fortunate that she hadn't been caught under the cave-ins.

This was a powerful magical signature, not some pathetic remnant left by someone as weak as Gaius. It pained her to admit it, but it resonated with a strength greater than her own considerable power. Morgana's eyes darkened and her lips pulled up into a snarling grimace. There was only one person who could have left this trace. The one man who had thwarted her plans time after time.

Emrys.

The aged sorcerer must have healed Merlin and followed the useless manservant to the tomb to save Arthur once again. It wasn't fair; what had she done against Emrys to make him hate his fellow sorcerer? Why did that traitor side with her magic-hating brother?! It confounded her to be stymied thus time and time again. Morgana's temper grew until she could hold it in check no longer. She threw her head back and screamed a blood-curdling cry of pure rage, releasing a wild torrent of uncontrolled magic. The walls vibrated and dust filtered down from the ceiling, adding to the gloom of the dirty air.

Frustrated, sore and exhausted, Morgana seethed at her inability to match Emry's show of power in quaking the tomb. Then Morgana directed her magic to the piles of stones blocking the exits, flinging some of the stones through the air and crushing others into dust before bursting through the last few with a push of magic. Morgana looked around as she strode through the now-demolished and deserted tomb, seething at how easily Odin had abandoned her.

As she finally exited the tomb, blinking at the sudden light, Morgana paused momentarily to let her eyes adjust. It was early morning, but she had no idea how long she had lain unconscious, trapped within the tomb. Morgana's mind spun; she had much to do in order find Emrys. She would need to prepare; this was no fool's errand, after all. Perhaps another visit to Alator was needed. The Catha priest couldn't possibly hold his tongue forever. After a few deep, cleansing breaths of the fresh air outside of the tomb, Morgana began walking, vowing to find Emrys and bring him to his knees.


The last High Priestess of The Old Religion slogged angrily over the rough terrain. Her eyes were stormy and her fury was palpable as she moved through the forest. Even the woodland creatures fled from her tumultuous presence. Her rage had grown ever stronger when she exited the Tomb of Kings and discovered that no one remained. Not a single man was left; so much for Odin being her ally. Even her horse was gone, as the beast had been one from Camelot, and none of Odin's mounts remained either.

Now after two days of walking, Morgana made it to the top of a distant hill overlooking Camelot. The witch seethed with unhindered fury at Arthur, Mithian and Rodor's escape. The sun was setting just on the other side of the city, causing the castle towers and turrets to stand out in silhouette. Morgana reached out with her mind's eye, passing over the quiet peasants in the streets and the drowsy castle guards, finding her way to the room that she and Mithian had stayed in. Sure enough, the princess was there, readying herself for bed.

Morgana's anger spiked and she used what little connection she could feel to the rune-carved bracelet on Mithian's wrist to punish the princess one last time. The witch smirked with satisfaction when the spoiled princess cried out in pain. Morgana held the connection as long as she could, hoping to get closer and increase the torment but the distant thud of horses broke her concentration.

Gasping and nearly spent, Morgana realized that she had underestimated the debilitating effect of her head injury. The horses were coming closer, no doubt a Camelot patrol. Breathing deeply and rallying the last of her strength, Morgana hastily whispered a spell to transport her as far from the citadel as she could manage.

Thus Morgana knew not where she landed. It was a heavily forested area and night had fallen. There was little chance that she would discover her whereabouts before daybreak. Not wanting to stop in what could be a dangerous area of the forest, the High Priestess found herself wandering, weakened and dizzy. Everything that she had done in the last week had drained her far more than she realized, and her reserves of energy were becoming further depleted as she drifted through the trees. It didn't help that her head was pounding and her ears were ringing after her hasty transport aggravated her head injury.

Morgana narrowed her eyes as her path led her to the edge of a cliff. It seemed as though she could go no further. Backing slowly from the edge, Morgana seethed inwardly at the number of failures that she had suffered. It was all Emry's fault. The meddling man had gotten in her way more than even Merlin had. Clenching her fists in frustration, she screamed in rage and malevolent anger, her cries echoing across the wide valley below her.

Her last reserves spent, Morgana finally collapsed to her knees and knew no more.


The next time Morgana gained awareness, she realized that she was not on the cliff top where she had finally passed out. She was in a bed within a rough-hewn fabric tent. There was a cooking fire burning somewhere and Morgana's head was no longer pounding.

"I am pleased to see that you are awake, My Lady," a small, timid voice sounded to Morgana's right. Turning to meet their gaze, Morgana narrowed her eyes at the slim, light-brown haired girl standing there. She was obviously a druid, based on the marking peeking out from her pushed-up sleeve.

"Who are you?" Morgana demanded, not willing to show any portion of gratitude until she knew by whom and why she was being held captive.

"I am sorry, My Lady," the girl blathered, wringing her hands nervously. "I am Sefa, daughter of Ruadan."

Morgana's eyes widened, instantly knowing who this girl was. Ruadan had been a worthy ally, but it had been his foolish attempts to save this Sefa that had killed him, divesting Morgana of a powerful ally. The high priestess sniffed disdainfully at her, angered that such a pathetic creature could have ruined so many of Morgana's future plans. Straightening her spine, Morgana asserted her power and authority over the timid druid girl.

"Why are you keeping me?" Morgana demanded, unwilling to remain captive when Aithusa wasn't there to be used against her.

"We are not keeping you, My Lady! We just wanted to help you," Sefa said hurriedly, sniveling as she realized the extent of the priestess' ire. It made Morgana smile inwardly to see Sefa backpedal under her stare; she had yet to tire of the thrill that went through her when she commanded the fear and respect of those beneath her.

"Who is this 'we?'" Morgana asked, her voice turning coy as Sefa trembled further; there was no denying that the witch was now the one in charge.

"That would be me and my group," a deep, though familiar voice drawled from behind Sefa. The man stood silhouetted in the entrance to the tent. Morgana had not seen this man in at least seven years. He was thinner, his hair shorter, more roughly cut and his face was now covered in a thick beard. But his voice was the same.

"Alvarr?!" Morgana whispered in disbelief. The man nodded and stepped fully into the tent, allowing Morgana to see his face.

"Yes," he confirmed, smiling a triumphant smile. "We meet again, Lady Morgana."


Alvarr had been called many things in his lifetime, but one thing he was never known as was a fool. When Sefa had come running back into camp spouting off about a magical woman in the woods, Alvarr had been tempted to ignore the mousy girl. But her description of the woman was one that Alvarr would have been utterly foolish to brush off as no one important.

The Lady Morgana was feared universally across the five kingdoms. Her thirst for vengeance and unyielding drive for the throne of Camelot combined with her sheer power made her a force to be reckoned with. Though to be an ally of the witch was often little better than being an enemy. The tenderhearted young woman that had swooned in Alvarr's presence and folded under his urgings was long gone. Now Morgana Pendragon was cold, unmoveable and utterly dangerous. Some might say anyone was a fool to ally themselves with her, but Alvarr thought he'd be foolish not to.

Besides, the former druid figured that he owed the witch at least one favor in return for her help in his escape from Uther's dungeon all those years ago. Alvarr only hoped that he wouldn't regret it.


Morgana sat beside the camp's central fire, instructing Alvarr to have some food and drink brought to her. The nomadic man had changed very little since he had come to Camelot with Mordred all those years ago. Perhaps a new scar or two littered his older face, but he was still arrogant, albeit disarmingly charismatic. Morgana did not miss how Sefa hung on Alvarr's every word or how the young girl watched the older man with adoration. The High Priestess scoffed to herself at the display, not wanting the very visible reminder of how she herself had acted towards the man when she had first met him. Morgana was determined not to fall into such failings again. She was certain that it wouldn't be an issue though. While Alvarr had changed very little, Morgana's transformation during the same time period had been significant. She was now much more versed in magic and in the ways of the world. She was definitely the superior now.

"What brings you to our humble corner of the forest?" Alvarr said, sitting closer than was appropriate. His lips were turned upwards with an engaging grin, distracting the witch from her internal musings. Sefa gave Alvarr an injured look, which Morgana wanted to roll her eyes at, but refrained. She didn't want to alienate the girl, as she may yet have some use for her. Morgana eyed Alvarr blankly for a moment, tempted to ignore the man to see how he would react; how far he would go to gain her favor. When they had met before, Alvarr had seemed mysterious. His enigmatic and charming nature was partly what drew Morgana to him. Now the high priestess knew better; she knew that Alvarr had played her for the clueless fool that she had been. Toyed with her vulnerabilities and used her for his own ends.

As Uther's young, naive ward, Morgana had seen Alvarr as powerful. But now Morgana knew that it was Alvarr's charisma that was his greatest strength. That was why he'd needed Mordred to wield the crystal and why he needed Morgana to help him steal it. Alvarr's magic was but a flickering candle compared to the blazing wealth of power that flowed through her own veins.

"I had some dealings with King Odin," Morgana finally admitted, putting on her own flirtatious grin. She had learned much over the last seven years, including how to use her own considerable charm to convince others to do her will. Especially when those others were weaker men. It was time to turn the tables.

"You were working with Odin?!" Sefa interjected.

"Yes. We joined together against a common enemy. It isn't unusual. With any luck he caught up with the fleeing coward and ran him through," Morgana growled.

Alvarr and Sefa looked to one another with wide eyes.

"You've not heard, then?" Alvarr asked tentatively.

"What do you know?" Morgana hissed, her flirtatious air dropping instantly.

Alvarr subconsciously sat a bit further back from the glaring witch. The movement did not go unnoticed by Morgana; she had to bite back the pleased grin that threatened to bloom across her face. She had Alvarr right where she wanted him.

"Yesterday one of my men was in a nearby village for supplies. While he was there, a messenger came from the citadel. Just two days ago, Camelot signed a joint truce with Nemeth and Meredor."

Morgana sat still and silent for nearly a full minute while she processed Alvarr's news. It grated against everything that Morgana was to have either Arthur or his shadow puppet Emrys turn yet another ally against her. Annis, then Alator, Mordred and now Odin. Morgana took a deep breath, nearly trembling in fury.

"Was it Arthur that injured you?" Sefa asked, not unkindly.

"Arthur is no threat to me," Morgana spat. "He's been lucky in the past, but his fortune will not last. The only person with any hope of surviving against me is Emrys."

"Emrys?!" Alvarr exclaimed, his eyes wide. "Emrys lives?"

"He does, though with any luck, he won't for much longer. I will not rest until he and his precious Arthur are dead," Morgana vowed fiercely, grinding her teeth in pure fury. "I mean to seek out Alator of the Catha. He knows who Emrys truly is, though he won't be easy to find, nor will he be willing to talk."

"Mordred once spoke of Emrys, when the boy was part of our group," Alvarr mused, trailing off invitingly, a knowing glint in his eye. He wasn't stupid. He knew that Morgana would be interested in any information he had. Willing, even, to pay for that information. In gold, favors, or power, Alvarr did not care, so long as he was paid.

"Mordred?!" Morgana asked, seething once more at the thought of the back-stabbing wretch.

"Yes. The boy acted as though he was indebted to the man, yet he spoke of him begrudgingly."

"Mordred knows who Emrys is?"

"I assumed at the time that he was just telling stories. All young boys like to spin a fantastic tale, after all. But he spoke as though he was familiar with the man," Alvarr confirmed, his smile growing. Morgana's face morphed from furious, to contemplative, to triumphant in less than a minute.

"We need to lay a trap," Morgana said, standing to pace around the fire and taking command of the small group of rogue magic users. "Luring one low-ranking knight out of Camelot would be much easier than torturing an answer from a Catha Priest."

"It might not be so easy as you think," Alvarr protested, not eager to repeat the numerous run-ins he had had with Camelot's knights.

"For you, perhaps it wouldn't be," Morgana said, pausing to look haughtily at her newest soldier. Then her lips turned up in a chilling smile. "But for me, it will be like child's play."

"The knights rarely leave the city except in groups. Ambushing a patrol from Camelot isn't child's play, it's suicide," Alvarr disagreed, fighting against the shiver that threatened at the look on Morgana's face.

"I have my methods," the witch said, walking away from the fire. She could feel Alvarr's eyes following her as Morgana made her way back to the tent she had awakened in. At the door, she stopped and looked back, raising her eyebrow and smirking confidently at the nomad. Then her expression abruptly turned cold and distant. "Don't make me test them on you."


Thanks for reading! Who's ready to get back to Merlin and Mithian now? ;)