A/N: You can blame my recent creative outburst on my lack of a life, haha. I don't have any definite plans for this series. There are a few episodes I've rewatched that I'd like to include eventually (1.04, 2.08), so we'll see.
This chapter takes place during episode 1.12, "To Kill the King." (Also, can I just say how much I love that title? I don't know why; I just do.)
He comes to visit when she's in the dungeon.
Moonlight streaks in through the bars on the window, hits his deep blue eyes, illuminates those beautiful cheekbones, and all she can think is: It's my fault.
She doesn't care about being locked up, doesn't care that she will have marks on her wrist from the shackles Uther's thrown her in. What she cares about is Gwen. All she was trying to do was make everything right. Gwen's been her only friend in Camelot. She's been her rock when the nightmares have gotten too much, when her relationship with Uther has become too strained.
She simply wanted to be worthy of that friendship.
Why does everything she touch turn to ash?
Gwen is so good, but she sometimes feels as if she is cursed, that the power she feels growing inside her is a dark, terrifying one that she won't be able to control.
She slips back into the shadows, resting her head against the cool stone of the wall and swallowing down her tears. Merlin settles quietly onto the straw beside her.
"I brought you some supper," he tells her quietly, holding a bowl of stew, a hunk of bread, and a cup of wine toward her.
"I'm not hungry."
Frowning, he sets the plate on the floor, but he doesn't say anything.
He just sits there, staring at the guard outside the door and picking at the straw like they're spending a pleasant day in the forest.
It's infuriating, his patience.
But then she begins to imagine what a day spent doing nothing with him would be like, and she finds herself calming down.
She doesn't know what to say to him, this clumsy, enigmatic boy who seems to know what she's thinking, to know what is in her tortured heart. Sometimes he looks at her with those devastating eyes of his, and there is a pang inside her that says he is the light to her dark, the calm to her storm. They are kindred souls, and yet he is so much better.
No matter her good intentions, she always seems to cause chaos.
But Merlin . . .
Merlin has not only the intentions but the means. He may be merely a servant, but she has seen the influence he has on Arthur, on all the knights, the servants.
She cannot find proper words, so she asks, "How is Gwen?"
"You know Gwen," he murmurs. "Strong, but . . . still hurting."
Morgana's lips twitch. "It is my fault," she confesses in a whisper. "I'm responsible for her pain."
Merlin turns his head sharply. She fixes her gaze straight ahead, but she can feel his eyes on her. As the king's ward, she used to special treatment – from men, from everyone – but he has an inadvertent way of making her feel small, worthless.
"What do you mean?" he queries gently.
Sighing, she turns her head to regard him sadly. "Gwen's father, his death. I gave him the key to his cell. I was the reason he tried to escape. You and I both know he wouldn't have been given a fair trial. It's my fault that he's dead."
"Morgana . . ." he breathes, shaking his head incredulously.
Hesitantly, he leans forward, and Morgana sinks against his awkward embrace. She lifts her arms to his chest, and the links of her chains clank together, a dismal sound in the hush night.
"You are not to blame," Merlin begins cautiously. "You may have given him the key, but you didn't force him to escape."
She shakes her head, the wool of his shirt scratching her forehead. "But without me, he never would have been able to try at all."
Setting his jaw, Merlin slides a finger beneath her chin and lifts her head. "But just think, Morgana. Without you, Tom would have gone to trial, and you said it yourself, Uther had already condemned him."
She sniffles, wipes the tears from her eyes, and pulls away from him. "I am the king's ward," she says. "I should be able to do something to make this right."
Merlin lets out a breath and stares contemplatively at his feet.
Morgana pushes him gently on the shoulder and chastises, "You're supposed to make me feel better!"
"Oh, I'm sorry, my lady," he apologizes with a soft, sober laugh. He picks up the wine goblet and offers it to her. "Maybe this will help."
Chuckling, she takes a swig of the liquid, relishes the pleasant feeling of warmth as it slides down her throat. She rests her head against the wall and holds out the goblet.
"Here," she says gently. "You look like you could use some as well."
And indeed, he looks just as worn-out and broken down as she feels.
For the first time since he stepped through her cell door, she notices the circles below his eyes, his messy hair, his disheveled clothing. Unless she's mistaken, he hasn't slept a wink either.
Taking the goblet gratefully, he swallows down three big gulps.
"You know," she teases softly, "maybe you should take away this stew and just bring a wine jug for us."
"I'll see what I can do," he promises, even as his cheeks turn red with embarrassment.
They sit in comfortable silence for a while, long enough for her to begin to wonder why exactly he's here.
Listening to an owl hoots sorrowfully outside the window, Morgana questions, "Do you ever wonder if we're meant to have a purpose in life?"
Merlin regards her curiously, and there's an expression in those unfathomable blue eyes that she can't read. "Do you mean, like a destiny?" he asks.
"Maybe. I don't know," she shrugs. "But a purpose, something to let me know that I'm meant for more than being the king's lovely ward."
The last part comes out more bitterly than she means it to, but her anger has been simmering for hours now without someone like Merlin to check it. It's funny how she lets her temper run unimpeded around everyone, and then a simple servant comes around and makes her feel like she could be so much better than her angry, futile outbursts.
"Morgana . . ." he breathes. "You are so much more than that. You . . ."
When he stops himself, she looks over at him, intrigued. "What? What were you going to say?"
He has that same indecipherable look on his face as he did when they were hiding the Druid boy in her room, when she had dared to discuss the forbidden topic of magic. Now, as then, he strikes her as more of a mystery than she can even begin to uncover.
"Nothing," he swallows. He pushes the cup toward her. "You should finish the wine. I drank too much."
"How considerate," she smiles teasingly.
"It will be better, you know, when Arthur is king."
"And for now?"
"For now . . . we find a way to make this right, or as right as we can." He reaches out and fiddles with manacle around her right wrist. A smirk tugging at his lips, he adds, "A way that doesn't get you thrown in the dungeon again, that is."
She smiles as he rises and brushes off his trousers. He stoops down to collect her uneaten meal.
"Merlin?" He looks to her, and she pauses before saying, "Thank you."
Merlin nods, a smile on his lips, and says, "Of course. Would you like me to try to get you some more wine?"
"No," she replies with a shake of her head. "It's late. You've had a long day, and you should get some rest."
"You should as well. I know it's not exactly what you're used to, but the straw isn't so bad. I promise."
She chuckles. "Thank you for visiting, Merlin."
"I'll talk to Arthur about getting you released."
Morgana smiles, leaning back against the wall and murmuring, "Goodnight, Merlin."
"Good night, my lady." He drops a hasty bow before disappearing through the door, and the smile fades from Morgana's lips.
He is right. He usually is – a tendency which Arthur finds annoying and Morgana finds intriguing.
She is more than what she is made out to be. She is more than simply the king's ward, a spoiled royal who cannot understand suffering. She knows what it is to lose, and to hope, and to love. She doesn't understand how Uther came to be so full of hate, how a boy who has so little came to possess a heart full of such goodness.
What she does understand is the haunting look of despair that is ever-present in Gwen's eyes.
She may not be fully to blame for this, but she can do something to put it to rights.