A/N: While I enjoyed "Goblin's Gold" immensely, I was disappointed in the scene where Merlin gets arrested for sorcery in front of the court. Obviously Morgana would have a little more reaction than, "Oh, yay, he's finally going to die." This is my attempt to rectify that.

Morgana pauses and takes a deep breath before descending the steps to the dungeon.

This is all very ridiculous, and she has no business paying him any attention after the way he's treated her. Indeed, she's quite thrilled that he's gotten himself arrested and thrown into the dungeons. But there's still a nagging in her mind, as if she's been missing something that's been right in front of her eyes all this time.

So she gathers her wits and marches to his cell, where she finds the guard asleep and slumped in his chair.

She lets out a sigh. Such incompetence. And yet taking Camelot has proved so elusive, mostly thanks to the gawky servant staring at her from behind bars. He regards her cautiously, as well he should. He has a lot to account for, and she's determined to get the truth from him this time.

"Merlin," she greets dangerously, approaching the cell.

He's cowering in the corner, nearly hidden in shadows. But there's enough light from the torches for her to see the wariness in his eyes.

"What do you want, Morgana?" he asks, his voice quiet and almost calm. "To taunt me?"

The words open up a wound she thought she'd cauterized long ago. There was a time when they were allies, friends even, a time when they would have helped each other. She sometimes thinks she would have laid down her life for him; the connection was that deep. But now, now they simply take every possible opportunity to throw each other into the lions' den.

"Or does it bother you," he continues, "that Gaius could so easily do what you could not?"

Despite the pleasure she took in the sight of Merlin being dragged away by the castle guards, this is still the factor that bothers her most. Why Gaius, of all people? If the accusations were true, why wait until now to reveal the idiot boy's true nature? Why protect him for so long? As ludicrous as his goblin tale is, it's an easier one to swallow than the idea of Merlin - Merlin! - being a sorcerer.

After all, wouldn't she have seen some sign before now? Wouldn't he, when he saw the pain she was in, have said something? Reassured her, perhaps, that she wasn't the only one to live with this terrifying secret?

Plastering a scowl onto her face, she retorts, "It matters very little who sent you here, Merlin. All that matters is that you are here."

He frowns, and the hint of sadness in his gaze stirs up the ever-present anger inside her breast. What right does he have to pity her, to feel any sort of sadness for what she has become?

"Of course," he says, smiling ruefully to himself, "and it matters that an execution is imminent. Though, I confess, I would have thought you'd have more compassion on . . . on one of your own kind." He looks up sharply, his eyebrows contracting as he stares her down. His tone suddenly cautious, he asks, "That's what you've come for, isn't it?"

Swallowing, she curls her fingers around one of the cool iron bars. "After all this time, you don't think I deserve a few answers?"

His gaze still locked with hers, he rises to his feet, meets her at the door of the cell, and rests his hands on the barrier. He leans closer and says, "I'm not sure someone like you deserves anything."

A furious blush colors her normally pallid cheeks, and she clenches her fist as she staunches the urge to slap him. Sneering, she says, "One answer. Surely the infallible Merlin can spare that."

One answer, one 'yes,' would explain so much - the coincidences, the close calls, the secrets. The pain.

He tilts his head, resting his forehead against the bars. He's so close now that his exhalations puff against her cheek, and she can smell a hint of wine on his breath.

"Go ahead then. Ask."

She tightens her mouth and swallows her pride. "Is it true?" she breathes. "Do you have magic?"

Once the question is out, she holds her breath, almost unconsciously, in anticipation. He heaves a sigh, his shoulders sagging, and backs away from the bars. She can't quite read the expression in his eyes, a fusion of doubt and . . . sorrow, she thinks.

Finally, he sets his jaw and replies in a low voice, "No. It's not true."

She releases the lungful of air she'd been holding in, feeling an oppressive weight settle upon her soul. It would have been so simple if it had been true. An unattainable future flashes before her eyes, one in which they're allies instead of mortal enemies.

They stand there, facing each other, neither prepared to give ground. And she sees for the first time what she's lost in him. She recalls when they'd first met, when she was convinced that he was the essence of goodness and innocence. All of that has been a delusion though, an excruciating, damned delusion.

Fixing him with a cold gaze, cold enough to match the iciness of her new heart, she shuts down that heart, builds up the walls around it and fortifies the doors. And she turns her back on him, determined to never let him again.