Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin or the Fray, or the song All At Once. Please don't die of shock.

Title: What Could Have Been

Chapter: 1

Word Count For Chapter: 3,209

Author: Crisiscase

Summary: One false word, one angry outburst, one mistake and now she knows, now she knows he has magic… What could have been had Merlin confessed when he confronted Morgana in the Camelot crypts…

BETAs: Mnemosyne77 and brickroad16. I owe the two of them huge, massive thank yous for all their work. I will say their constructive critique probably saved this chapter from the grammatical monstrosity it would have been had they not agreed to help me. They are both awesome writers. Go check out their fics, they're awesome! Go! Now! Before you even read this!

A/N: Well… This is the first full chapter so I'm rather tentative but I hope it pleases, particularly since I love this pairing so much and was dying for Merlin to confess. Thanks to all you wonderful people who reviewed the first chapter and/or my oneshot, you are all amazing. I would love to know your thoughts on this one.

"Sometimes the hardest thing

And the right thing are the same".

The Fray- All at Once

Panic, betrayal and desperation surged through his body; adrenaline flooded his veins, his conscious mind discarded for the moment.

His feet drummed heavily on the thick stone steps that led down to the crypt where the Lady Morgana undoubtedly awaited him. He could feel the magic; the sheer power radiating from the crypt. He had been able to feel it even from where he had been fighting out in the courtyard with Arthur. The power was so much like his own; neither dark nor light, but elements of both. He couldn't imagine where she had found so much power...

He vaulted two steps as he reached a small landing before the steps twisted; the narrow stairwell lit by the reddish, flickering light of the blazing torches. The walls seemed to close in on Merlin as he descended. If he had to guess he would say he had reached the ground level of the castle as the last torched blazed forlornly on the wall, a last watchmen on the edge of the gaping the darkness; the darkness that would swallow him as he chased the woman who was, according to Kilgharrah, his other half, the dark to his light, the hate to his love.

Having passed the final torch his body was consumed by the darkness, much like Morgana's heart had been, and as he rushed down the narrow steps the torch still flickered, barely disturbed by his passing.

He raced around a corner and into the crypt. His eyes immediately took in the room, rapidly flying across every detail: Morgana, standing tall and proud before a long staff jammed into the ground, a tile cracked beneath it. The faint bluish light that illuminated the crypt was being emitted by a small ball of energy contained within the centre of the top of the staff, which was ringed by small branches that sprouted from the edges of the staff.

Merlin could see there was a faint aura surrounding Morgana, a slight shimmer to the air around her. It flickered in the air around her, a faint veil of power. It could be nothing else but her magic. She was strong, but uncontrolled. He knew if it came to a fight he could beat her, probably, but he didn't want to fight her, not if he didn't have to. Why did everything come back to fighting? To hating? To sides? Why couldn't he and Morgana have stayed friends, why did a good woman turn bad? All of these questions were answered in one word. Fate. Fate had torn them Morgana apart, fate had forced them into this situation, and fate had decided they would be enemies long before he arrived in Camelot.

All of this unnecessary bloodshed, all of this depraved killing and hating for one ridiculous prophecy. Merlin allowed himself one moment of hate for the prediction that had led them here, before he pushed it to the side.

He skidded to a stop, pushing his turbulent thoughts to the side as Morgana whirled around, her black hair flying. Her normal attire, soft court gowns, was replaced by a stiff mail shirt, a gleaming ring of metal standing out at her waist level, and a long pair of leather pants which creaked slightly as she spun. Her normally soft, luxurious curls were tied savagely back into a long ponytail that trailed about halfway down her back. Her wrists were encased in metal gauntlets; her expression was one of coldness, of hate, but also, something… something just below the surface, something that when he looked her directly in the eyes she could barely hide, something he couldn't name.

They stared at each other for what seemed like eternity, seconds blurred into what seemed like hours but was in reality only a mere minute. Morgana's lips were curled slightly at the edges, a smile, so close to a smirk. Still they didn't speak. Then Morgana broke the silence.

"You should leave now, while you still can."

There it was, she was offering him a way out, a measure of peace, and he understood, or at least he hoped he did. His heart thudded painfully, erratically. She was offering him escape; perhaps there was some piece of goodness left inside of her? The piece that made her Morgana, the piece that no-one could ever remove… But he couldn't leave, not now, not when people were dying. So, hardening his heart and schooling his face into an impassive expression, he disregarded the mixed feelings he held for the witch and he replied, his voice begging, pleading with her.

"Morgana. Please. I beg you."

And he was, he was begging, for the fact that they were once friends, for the fact that once she trusted him, that once he had protected her. His soul was in indescribable agony, to choose between Camelot and Morgana, friend or thousands of innocent lives. His destiny or his loyalty to his friends? His hand tightened almost imperceptibly on the hilt of the sword he had taken to fight one of Morgana's summoned skeletons.

There was an ominous, rumbling cracking sound from above, as if the very weight of Camelot was pressing down on the crypt. Both he and Morgana looked up breaking their eye contact. Merlin's heart was racing, hammering against his chest ceaselessly, uncontrolled, unfettered, unrestrained.

Merlin noticed a slow, almost smug smirk spreading across Morgana's face. The expression turned her face into one that was alien to him, for that one immeasurably long second she was no longer the women he had known at Camelot; she was someone else, someone cruel and hard. And he hated it, hated the jab of pain he felt in his heart, hated the lurch of his gut. So he moved, attempting to subtly shift around her.

But the minute he moved her attention snapped back to him, her now sly, cold eyes locking on him. They circled slightly, perfectly in time, predator and prey. The only question…. who was the prey?

Merlin didn't know what to do, she hadn't seemed moved by his last plea, in fact she hadn't even responded, he had to try again, he didn't want to hurt her. Wasn't sure if he could.

"Women and children are dying! The city will fall!"

Morgana's eyes narrowed, her face tightening. Her mouth curled slightly into a sneer, her now narrowed eyes were cold and deadly. Merlin's skin tingled as a faint, very weak pulse of magic came from her. He could feel her aura becoming stronger as she grew more emotional.

Her body was stiff, shoulders high, back ridged as she replied.

"Good."

Merlin's heart tore at the reply, fate had done this to her, turned her from loving healer to hate filled destroyer.

"No. You don't mean that."

Merlin weakly shook his head with this comment, there was no way she meant it… it would mean that she was no longer Morgana, no longer had that shred of goodness he so desperately hoped she possessed, because if she meant what she said… She was beyond redemption. No that was unthinkable.

"I have magic, Merlin. Uther hates me, and everyone like me. Why should I feel any different about him?"

Merlin's heart shattered, shattered with empathy, with sorrow, with pain. Her voice was so cold, but also bitter, self-mocking even. There was only one answer that presented itself to him, the most obvious, and the most truthful.

"You of all people could change Uther's mind. But doing this, using magic like this, will only harden his heart."

Morgana's mouth curled into a scornful smirk, her eyes glowing with disdain.

"You don't have magic Merlin. How could you hope to understand?"

Merlin's eyes narrowed. Here it was, the impasse. Could he tell her? Could he relieve her of her suffering as he should have done long ago? He should have guided her away from her hate, but he had abandoned her and he hated himself for it. So instead he sidestepped the unvoiced correction and answered her actual question.

"I do understand. Believe me, I do. You're scared. But that doesn't give you the right to kill innocent people."

Morgana's derisive sneer slackened slightly, as if that thought, the thought that she would be harming innocents hadn't occurred to her, then her lips twisted again.

"To kill someone like Uther sacrifices have to be made. After all…" And here her tone was cold, mocking and hard "if the fools wish to help him, help him kill those of my kind, are they truly innocent? Uther blindly kills my people. Why should I not do the same to his?"

"Because you're better than him! You're so much better than him. So he's a monster… by allowing yourself to become one you are becoming like him, letting him win, and letting yourself become worse than him. Can't you see? You of all people could change Uther's mind. But doing this… killing innocents… it's wrong and it will only make him hate magic all the more."

Morgana's eyes flickered, and before she could cover it up he saw into the hole, the crack in her mask. And he saw pain, pain and fear and he knew she had been lying, she did care, at least a bit. But then her expression grew derisive once more.

"You don't understand Merlin, you can't understand. You don't know what it is to be afraid of who you are, what it is to be an outcast. Uther would kill me for what I was born with, do you think I deserve to die for who I am?"

Merlin felt a great swell of compassion for his former friend.

"No. I don't think you deserve to die for who or what you are, but doing this… this is wrong. What has happened to you doesn't give you the right to kill who you wish, nor does the power you wield give you the right to do this."

"You don't have magic Merlin. How could you hope to understand?"

Merlin's head shook slightly and softly, oh so softly, he spoke. His tone was filled with immeasurable sadness.

"I do understand."

"You don't know what it is like to be an outsider. To be ashamed of how you were born, to have to hide who you are."

Merlin could feel the anger building up inside, he knew what was happening, Morgana had pushed and pushed, obviously enjoying the helplessness that was rolling off of Merlin. The one thing she didn't realise was that Merlin's patience was like a sapling, it bent and it bent but eventually it bent to far and then it… snapped.

"Yes I do. You feel so scared that you hate yourself, that bile rises in your throat when you look in the mirror. You feel so lonely that you think nobody would notice if you just… vanished." Merlin's voice broke off, his chest heaving with emotion. He took a deep, calming breathe before continuing in a calm, measured voice. "You fear getting close to someone because they may discover who you really are… because they may discover your magic. Yes I know what that feels like… I know how that feels… I know it; oh I know it well."

Merlin was silent as a gasp escaped Morgana's mouth. He could tell it was an involuntary sound, one of shock and surprise. Her eyes were wide and clouded, as if she was trying to understand, to process what he had said…

Then her eyes went hard.

"You lied to me. You betrayed me."

Her voice was hard and biting as if it contained the harsh edge of winter's chill. The words were a statement of fact, a bitter voicing of the truth; but Merlin was still silent. It had been necessary.

The unforgiving scrape of her sword being drawn filled the crypt.

"You had magic. You had magic all along and you never told me?"

"I'm sorry." The only problem with his voicing of this was that he wasn't sure he was. Could he be sorry to one who was prepared to kill thousands, could he be sorry for not spilling his secrets to one who had proved she couldn't be trusted?

Morgana's eyes were frozen, terrifying. His eyes were locked with hers, a void of coldness between them and then as his eyes dropped from her own orbs he watched as she shifted into a lower position, her sword raised slightly. The form was predatory, the grace with which she had adopted it and the ease with which she held it showed her to be one who had practised many times for many years with a blade.

His eyes once more held hers.

"What are you going to do? Kill me?"

Her eyes hardened even more.

"Don't think I won't."

And then she struck, her body springing out of its low position, her blade lashing out towards his neck, a lethal attack. He could barely keep up; she was so fast, so natural, so practised with the blade, his limited skill was no match.

Her sword whistled past his head, the steel gleaming in the blue light of the staff, he ducked away, his body spinning to gain extra distance.

His chest was heaving, she wouldn't give him time. His mind was running on adrenaline, he couldn't gain a moment to focus for a spell; she was simply too good with her sword.

She closed again, her blade darting forwards. Desperately he raised his sword, hoping he would be quick enough…

Blinding agony. His right thigh felt as if it was on fire; she had finally managed to get a hit, her blade had glanced the guard on his and only left a thin cut but it was long and still hurt like hell.

He had fallen to one knee, his injured one no longer supporting him. She advanced on him, cold anger in her bearing, in her expression. Her sword was raised slightly, he knew he had only a few seconds to act, his mind was too flooded by adrenaline to cast a spell. As she neared, he tensed the muscles in his good leg; he had only one chance.

When she got within range, he threw himself forwards; pushing off with his good leg. His shoulder drove into her stomach and from his position low on the floor he rammed the hilt of his weapon upwards into the hilt of her blade and with a huge surge of strength he flung both their weapons across the crypt.

She staggered back a step, now weaponless and Merlin was between her and the blades.

With the few seconds reprieve Merlin gathered his strength, hauling himself unstably to his feet by using an empty tomb as a stabilizer. He fixed her with a gaze. Her eyes were trained on his. He looked her deep in the eyes, ignoring the warm blood that ran down his sliced thigh.

"Help me." Merlin's voice was soft, pleading.

Her eyes shot open wide, he could almost feel the surprise and confusion radiating from her.

"What?" Her voice was weak, confused.

He fixed his blue eyes on her beautiful green eyes. He willed her to see how much he needed her… how much he wanted her back… how much he wanted to save her…

"Help me. Help me protect Camelot."

And there it was, the statement, what would be his greatest wish, he was tired of fighting of one who he had once called friend.

Seeing her hesitate he went on.

"Here you would be praised not cursed; here you could protect not destroy; here you would be loved, not despised. We need you Morgana; you could do so much to help. You may not be recognized now, nor praised. But one day… one day Arthur will be king and magic can return. Surely it is better to hope for the future than to bathe the present in blood? Do you truly want to be this person Morgana? This murderer? Stealing lives of innocents to get at one man? Is that who you truly want to be?"

He could see her inner conflict, her battle within her own mind. What happened next could change the future of Camelot, of Albion.

He watched as her eyes hardened with determination. She had obviously made a choice.

She strode towards him. He didn't try and stop her, he was confidant he could fight her magic, confidant he would sense it should hers make a sudden rise. She stood before him, eyes locked with his.

Wordlessly she slipped her arm underneath his, supporting him. He tensed at the contact but he willingly leant on her as they moved towards the swords, he had no choice, they'd do this together or not at all.

He watched as slowly she leant down and picked up her sword from where it lay on the floor and advanced on the long wooden rod, his body leaning slightly on hers. As they reached the wooden staff the ball of energy it was fuelling bathed them in a soft light. Then he watched as she drew back the sword, its silver blade turning to liquid mercury in the staff's luminance. He slipped his hands over hers and he was surprised at the warmth that spread from the point of contact but he shrugged it off. He channelled power into their joined hands, and he felt her power join with his, small for the moment but potent.

Then he breathed two words.

"Snee Das"

The sword slashed.

The staff was rent in two and Merlin's hands released hers. He ignored the chill that seemed to encompass his hands without the contact.

Then, in pitch black darkness he felt her turn; turn so she was facing him, her mouth hovering just next to his ear so she could whisper.

"You have my help but you don't have my forgiveness."

Then she was gone.

Slowly, Merlin dragged himself up the stairs from the crypt; he had healed his wound but he was no master of healing, even with magic. The spot would still be tender for days. His eyes were blank as he climbed, Morgana's words repeating themselves over and over again in his mind.

Neither he nor Morgana ever heard the faint rumble that came from below as something shifted slightly in restless slumber.

A/N: So… what did you think? All comments will be appreciated.