It has always seemed to Morgana that men are sort of pathetic. Like this business with Merlin, anyone can see Arthur is absolutely falling over himself with want for his bumbling manservant. It isn't just the newly feminine thing either, Morgana isn't always particularly observant when it comes to Arthur, but she knows -even if he doesn't- that wanting Merlin is not a new development in his life. Between all the berating and beating to a pulp every training session, Arthur is really quite stupidly fond of his manservant, and if he fancies him, well, Morgana isn't one to judge.
She does wish he would wise up and notice these things for himself though.
The way he was looking at Merlin right now for example, blonde hair falling in his eyes, lip worried between his teeth, brow furrowed in confusion. She sighs in annoyance, breaking his concentration and Arthur glares at her.
"What is it Morgana?" His voice is edged with annoyance, her look of wide-eyed innocence an unwelcome distraction.
"Please, another feast with a visiting noble? Sir so-and-so and his son, oh, have you met my ward Morgana? She's ever so pleased to make your acquaintance. I don't think!" This is actually fairly low on her current list of concerns, Morgana has always known her marriage is a bargaining chip, that she will eventually be betrothed to whomever can pay Uther the highest price for her hand. The lie tumbles easily from her lips though, and Arthur seems to sympathise her predicament.
"Thank the gods he doesn't have a daughter" He murmurs and she sees his eyes scan the hall for Merlin, currently standing with the other servants at the side of the room. His hair is curled into a tight knot, no doubt Guineveres work, and its unruly curls seem to have been tamed, all but for a few dark tendrils that fall over his forehead. His eyes are carefully fixed downwards, the proper picture of a servant, disappearing into the background.
But once in a while, when he knows Arthur isn't looking, Morgana sees his eyes flick upwards, searching his prince's face, his gaze falling back to the floor, unsatisfied. He cannot find what he's looking for, and she wonders somewhat sadly if he ever will.
The gossip of the court swirls around her, the newly adopted son of an aging knight, the birth of a daughter for Sir Kay, the news of a possible engagement for Morgana herself. Words blend into one another and Uther pulls her attention back to the young man who knows as well as she he will not be her husband.
Merlin lies in bed, the blackness of the night enveloping him completely as he teases the magic binding that has him trapped in this unwelcome body. It's a dark enchantment, twisted and wrong. His own magic is bright, warm and inviting, and he flicks a hand, sparks bouncing off the stone walls in a blaze of light.
A scream shatters the silence, far off and muffled through stone walls, but there's another, and another, and he is drawn to his feet as if pulled by some invisible hand.
The body against Morgana's smells of stale wine, the breath in her face nauseating. Her vision is dotted with stars as the hand around her throat tightens and she coughs as she tries to draw breath. She doubts her screams have been heard in the sleeping castle, and the bulk of the man on top of her is too much for her to fight away. His free hand has her night dress pushed to her hips, pawing at her thighs, trying to force them apart against her desperate struggles.
The visiting nobleman, drunk and furious, his son will not be married to Morgana, and should he finish what he has now started, nor shall any other man. She will be sullied completely, a worthless prize and no longer of value to Uther as a bargaining chip. Fear consumes her, burns away everything else, blinds and deafens her and leaves her limp and malleable, unable to save herself.
The pressure on her throat eases suddenly, the hand falling slack, and she gasps as air fills her burning lungs, fuzzy vision returning. The dead weight of the man lies across her bare legs, and she pushes him away, revolted by the very sight of him. His breeches are halfway down his legs, buttocks pale in the candlelight of her chambers, and she shudders at what so nearly transpired this night, wrenching her white night dress over her bare knees. She can already feel bruises forming on her thighs where his fingers dug into her flesh, and the ache is a reminder of her lucky escape. Blood oozes through the hair of the man sprawled across the foot of her bed, a splash of the same sickening red smeared across the chamberstick lying on the floor.
On the other side of the room, Merlins outstretched hand falls, the gold fading from his eyes. There is no question he wielded the makeshift weapon, no doubt that he he did so from his position beside the door. Morgana knows enough of magic to recognise another wield it.
She does not feel the tears hot on her cheeks until a sob breaks from her throat and Merlin is by her side in a moment, holding her against the safe warmth of his chest. The sound of footsteps echo in the hallway, guards voices drawing near. She buries her face in the soft cloth of Merlins nightdress, fingers clutching him close, and she finds herself uncertain if her tears are of distress of relief.
Morgana does not wish to know the punishment inflicted upon the noble for his attack. Guinevere reports that Uther has visited Merlin to bestow his thanks and acknowledge a debt of gratitude, and he is given a week off from his duties to spend as he wishes. Morgana herself is given a week of strict bed rest in order to overcome her harrowing ordeal.
On the second day following the attack, Merlin visits her. The secret of his magic hangs heavy in the silence.
"Why did you not tell me?" Her question comes as an accusation, breaking the tense air between them, causing Merlin's beautiful face to crumple. The words fall from her lips unbidden: "All this time you knew, when I was scared, when I didn't know who to turn to, didn't know who I was anymore, you knew"
"I'm sorry" Comes the soft reply, and it sounds like an excuse, weak in the face of her pain and the sting of betrayal.
"If Uther knew, if he had any idea..." She breathes the words, the threat razor-sharp and very real indeed. Merlins face is twisted with guilt, his hands worrying into he faded blue fabric of his dress, nails bitten down to the quick. She is not really angry with him, knows he could not tell her, knows the danger he is in now.
Knows she will keep his secret.
"I forgive you" She says quietly, Merlins startlingly blue eyes meeting hers, wide with surprise. "-on one condition." And this is how she will repay what she owes him, how she will make amends. The price may be Merlin's life, and she is willing to gamble it. He sits silently, waits for her word.
"Tell Arthur"