A/N: Thanks to TheKingsWard, for suggesting this episode. :)

Also, I'm not one to beg for reviews, but it's a little annoying when people favorite without review. I'd love to hear what you think! So please take a moment to review, especially if you're going to favorite. :)

Happy premiere day! WOO!

"Stop! Don't drink it! It's poison!"

Morgana freezes at the shout, looks down at her own goblet as Merlin comes barreling into the banquet hall, distress on his face. There's shouting, and swords drawn, and angry looks thrown about, before anyone can make sense of anything.

A poisoned chalice, laced by Bayard, gifted to Arthur.

No one pays her any attention; all the eyes in the hall are fixed on Merlin. She recalls his accusation against Valiant, how he had proven his bravery and loyalty, though he was merely a servant. And there, there's that same steadfast look in his eye as he takes the cup from Uther, raises it to the head table.

He doesn't look at her, not directly, but she can't take her eyes off of him. Her heart speeds up, the pulse so rapid she can feel it racing beneath her skin. She wants to reach out and knock the goblet from his hand, wants to shout that this is madness, but she's never felt so utterly powerless. She's frozen, her feet rooted to the floor, one thought in her mind:

I am going to watch my friend die.

Her heart constricts as he glances to Bayard and then back. "It's fine," he admits.

Uther callously gives him up to the Mercian king. She fights a shaking, weak feeling in her knees, because she will lose him still. After the accusation, Bayard will show no mercy.

She looks up when he coughs, finding him pressing a fist to his throat. His lips are pursed, his eyes squinty, and his shoulders heave as he tries to draw breath. He collapses to the floor, the goblet rolling from his limp fingers.

Once Gwen leaves, Morgana methodically takes the pins from her hair, and dark waves cascade down her neck. Her hands tremble as she sets down the delicate silver hair pins. The reflection in the mirror gives her pause. This is her nightly routine, but this night feels so different. Other times, she can take pleasure in the woman looking back at her. It's a woman who is confident in her beauty, in her passion, in the power she holds over others.

Now, though, she looks and sees only futility. She is not Gwen, with her kind soul and ability to see goodness in everyone, or hope in any situation. She is not Gaius, with his hoards of knowledge and his medical expertise. She is not Arthur, with his courage and nobility. And she is most definitely not Merlin, with his compassionate heart and his clumsiness and his big ears and his damn stubbornness.

No, she is a spoiled girl, one who has known nothing but wealth and prosperity, one who can do nothing but sit and wait as the life of a friend hangs in the balance.

Friend.

The word warms her, even as she's painfully aware of how little she deserves to use it in regards to herself. A friend would be in the sickroom, not sitting alone in her chambers; a friend would take the ache and transform it into something productive; a friend would know what to do.

Now that Arthur's been warned against riding out to retrieve the antidote, she fears Merlin has lost all hope. He has only Gaius and Gwen left, who, for all their good intentions, are not miracle workers, can do nothing without the antidote.

He has her, too, but what is she good for? She is a pretty face, a persuasive tongue, nothing more. She raises her chin and looks defiantly into the mirror. She doesn't have much, but maybe what she has is enough.

Morgana walks through the moonlit corridor, slowing as she nears a window. The upper town is visible through the archway, and she can just see the rooftops, washed in silver and shadow. She lets out a deep breath. Arthur is probably out in the forest by now, riding hard to make up for the time he's lost. Her foster brother is a prat, and often misguided, but he has a good heart. He would never admit it, but he's growing fond of Merlin, would not be able to stand back and watch him die, especially after he drank poison in his place.

All he needed was a little prodding.

She swallows down all her fears and mindlessly continues on her way. Before she realizes, she's in front of Gaius's door. Her hesitation lasts but a moment, but no one answers when she knocks. She pushes it open a few inches to peer through the crack. Gaius is reclining in a chair, his head thrown back, his soft snores audible from the corridor. Gwen is nowhere to be found.

Silently, she slips inside the study and gracefully sits on the low stool beside Merlin's cot. He's unconscious and feverish, a sheen of sweat on his pallid face. The blanket covering him has slipped down, the edge nearly brushing the floor, and she lifts it and tucks it carefully around him. Her hands linger, fingertips hovering inches from his body, until she comes to a bold decision and rests one hand in his. Immediately, the tension in his fingers loosens, the crease in his brow disappears, and the ache in her heart lightens.

That feeling of futility once again eats at her, but she's done her part, and all anyone can do is await Arthur's return.

Squeezing his hand lightly, she leans forward and murmurs, "Get better, Merlin. People here depend on you, on your friendship, your loyalty. They need you to get better."

The door opens suddenly, and Morgana looks up, startled, as Gwen walks in, carrying a basin of fresh water.

She lets go of Merlin's hand.

"My lady," Gwen greets, equally surprised. She sets the basin down on the nearby table. "It is late."

Morgana stands and nods. "I know. I just came to see how he was," she says. Pressing her fingers into her handmaiden's, she adds, "Take good care of him, Gwen. He needs a friend like you."

Suddenly feeling as if she has intruded on a scene, a friendship, that she has no part in, she sweeps from the room.

She does not sleep that night, instead keeps an unnoticed vigil for an unobserved servant boy who has managed to endear himself to a gentle handmaiden, a spoiled prince, a discontent lady searching for purpose in her prosperous life.